Bless Me Father

Sometimes in life. Things happen. I suppose that's an unavoidable sort of statement. Things happen every day- regardless of who you are. But for me- oh for me strange things happened. It seemed as if everytime I turned around in my life, something horrible was in my sights. My mother use to tell me I had evil around me all the time. Evil.
So what do you do with that? where do you take it? Evil around you- and church is all that comes to mind. Church. Service. I can remember very blankly the few times my family had been dragged into those cathedral doors when I was younger. It seems like so long ago- between all the dirty needles and sleepless nights. Those doors were like dungeon gates- large wooden planks shooting from floor to ceiling in the nearly 40 foot high vaulted cathedral. St. Dominic's temple- the name so poignantly written in stained glass across the room- the bright brilliant works of art staining every window in the building. Scenes of biblical prophecies dancing to life as the light from the mid day's sun came filtering through them.
I hadn't slept in years it felt. Years and my soul was tired regardless. My hands played along the thick wooden church pews- all lined in a row, as every churches lay out is. Each red satin lined pew ascending towards a massive podium in the front of the entire church- a microphone sat prominantly at the podium- and it was more than obvious where their services took place in this church. This particular church was of little importance, it just mattered that I was in a church.
Because for the longest time I had this fear. This over whelming phobia of churches- not so much because I Was afraid of god. Just that I was afraid I'd sinned so much that mearly walking through the doors of that church would light my skin on fire. But no such super-human action took place, just the squeaking of the cathedral's old and weathered doors. there's something haunting about an empty temple. All the pews without worshipers- all places on the stage empty of it's musical ensemble. And of coarse as every other catholic church would have, a set of thick sturdy wooden confessionals sat against the furthest wall from me.
The silence was almost creepy- as I made my way down the center isle- my badly worn in converse squeaking on the flawless marbled floor. Why was I there? That of coarse is a question that isn't so obvious. But regardless of what my original intentions had been- my purpose on that day was something I still to this day don't understand. Maybe it was fate that our paths crossed as they did. Who knows what I came to those church doors for- 23 without a dime to my name, strung out on no sleep and too much heroin. My eyes blood shot and tired. I never considered myself a religious man- living in my own sins in a part of town where Jesus comes in the form of a hypodermic needle. But some times you find yourself questioning things- and maybe I was searching for answers that miserable Thursday afternoon. What ever it was, I couldn't seem to see passed the overwhelming stench of sex that seemed to cling in the air. I knew that smell all too well- the smell of forbidden acts in a place that was God's temple. I got Goosebumps on my boney arms, the chill that Cathedral gave to me as I finally reached the head of the pews- almost made me turn to run. I could just tell something in that place was a bit off. I could feel deep down something wasn't right.
My eyes jumped back and forth as I tried my best to figure out exactly where the pungent- musty aroma had originated from, but I drew blanks. Nothing but more silence once again. But like some bell going off in my head- I stopped to glance at the dark wooden confessionals. They looked antique, much as the rest of the church itself did- and had both doors closed tightly. I stood for what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, glued to those confessionals. It was like I felt afraid of them- or rather what was inside of them. And it happened. nothing amazing. Just a noise. A noise that caught me so off guard I nearly fainted.
A groan. Low- muffled and perverse. Not the thing you prepare yourself to hear at church. And it was evident to me at that second the utter importance of those booths was clear to me. The church wasn't empty at all- so it seemed. Part of me felt curious- what would drive a person to commit such acts in the house of god? But the better part of me said I'd heard something I'd definantly not been suppose to, I'd intruded at the wrong time. Sliding down along one of the last pews I drew my ears closer to the confessionals. If someone was fucking in church I was eves dropping on them. I guess that's what started that mess. The groan turning into panting. Hot- raged breaths in the quiet of it all. And there I sat, invading someone else's privacy, like the booths themselves were some Broadway musical production. Call me nosey if you must, but it was better entertainment than anything else in my life on that day.
Without realizing it- I'd walked into something almost as complicated as my own life. And within minutes things were flying in my mind. Of coarse I thought about leaving- before I was discovered as a pervert. But before I could even force myself to stand up- the door came creaking open like some primordial punishment. I froze mostly out of astonishment- it felt almost as if my eyes had willed the inevitable to happen.
Two sets of bewildered boarder-line panicked eyes- piercing through me in that church that day. But they weren't the ones I'd pictured in my head. He looked so broken- the familiar alter boy gown looking crumpled against his tiny shaking form. Alter boys, we all know their purpose in church. But the man that stood at his side, such a holy figure. So how is it he was stuck in such filth, and I had to cross his path. the path of curiosity rather.
Because I was more than curious. I was enchanted. Beside him- the newly discovered alterboy- stood the man who was trusted by all. the man who was god's messenger. I wasn't ready to comprehend such an equation- something you don't expect is always hard to digest. Especially when it comes to the people you're taught to trust and respect in this world. Like some shameful child the ordinarily saintly priest stood with slumped body features, a look of fear glued to his elderly face. And what an awkward position I'd seemed to find myself in. The kid who'd seen too much, of a situation in which he knew too little. Of all the days I'd picked to find some kind of knowledge- it had been pure fat. His face so full of shame- red and flustered under the church's mediocre lighting. And for a split second I saw myself in those pitiful brown orbs- I saw a connection with that boy.
"I'm sorry my son but this Cathedral is closed for the day- you'll have to come again tomorrow.."