“Uh, hello?”
A puzzled expression of uncertainty comes from the other side of the screen.
“Can I just give these to you and you can handle the rest?”, I hold up a folded piece of notebook paper.
“Erm… that’s not really how this works. You must say those aloud, my son.”
“Oh, sorry. Let me start over. I meant to say: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been about 5 years since my last confession.”
“Go ahead.”
I proceed to tell the priest about the incident. I try to not leave out any important details, while also protecting the identities of those involved.
Minutes pass by as I stare at the floor, yapping away. It’s been so long, it feels strange to speak for this long without having someone else chime in or interrupt.
The smell is starting to get to me. It’s nostalgic but stale. Like a really old book that hasn’t been read in a long time. It feels like nobody has sat in this seat for years, but I know that’s not true since this is one of the busiest churches in the area.
I guess my confession turned more into a soliloquy after some time. I didn’t even know if the priest was still there or had gone to lunch. It didn’t matter as long as I could offload what had just happened.
“So, Father, if you’re still there, what should I do? I’m kind of at a loss here.”
“I’m still here, my son. To answer your question—“
My phone begins to vibrate, the box amplifying the vibration to where it’s just as loud as having the ringer on. I check the caller ID, and sure enough, I can’t ignore it.
“Sorry, I gotta take this.”
The priest raises his finger as if to ask me to wait for a second, but I grab my phone and step out of the confessional immediately.
As I walk away, out of the church and back onto the main road, I’m thinking to myself: “Wow, that actually helped. I feel so much better!”
My bosses’ stern voice on the other end of the call is like an everyday sight I’ve become accustomed to. It has no effect on me anymore. I’m half-listening, half-thinking about why I gave up religion in the first place.
Hell, if I can take what I need from it and not worry about the rest then that’s good with me. I guess that’s how I treat the other things in my life, anyway. Work is first, everything else comes after.
I want to change, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my identity in the process. I’ll keep trying to chip off the paint, layer by layer until I can start over the right way. Baby steps, I suppose. Baby steps.