I make dinner. No one who knows me would ever believe it. Siobhan just sits on the stool by the island and tells me what to do. She writes down the recipe so I can do it myself some other time too. I boil ramen noodles for three minutes and then drain them and let them cool. All I have to do is add veggies and slivered almonds and it’s a Thai noodle salad. For the dressing, I mix the flavor package from the noodles with some oil and vinegar. It’s very easy, but it tastes fancy. Dad’s impressed.
I ask him if he saw any interesting places when he was out with Amy this afternoon.
He just shrugs. “Nothing to get excited about.” Siobhan has called her mom and she’s allowed to come to mass with us tonight. I’ve told her about the choir. When Father Tony gets that youth group going in September, he says it will probably meet after the Saturday night mass, so Siobhan says she wants to scope out Father Tony, the choir, and any kids our age who might be there.
We get there early, which is maybe not such a great idea. Catholics don’t talk in church. We’re supposed to be praying, or at least being quiet so other people can pray. The trouble with being quiet is that it gives me time to think about all the things I’ve managed to forget while Siobhan and I have been together today. Things like Brandy. Things like my mom going out with Jake. Things like never being able to go back to Holy Name because my mom is probably going to need all her money for her own school fees. The longer I kneel there, the worse I feel. What have I done to deserve this? I’m not that bad a person.
I glance back over my shoulder. The light is on outside the confession room; the door is open. Maybe Father Tony has some ideas about what I can do about Brandy.
I lean over to Siobhan and whisper, “I’m going to go to confession.”
“Why? Do you think trying on clothes when we weren’t going to buy anything … do you think that’s a sin?”
I hadn’t even thought about that. I shake my head. “No, it’s more that I need some spiritual direction.”
Almost all the saints had spiritual directors, someone you can tell all your troubles to, and then they’re supposed to give you guidance. I could really use some guidance, especially about Brandy.
I walk to the confession room. When I go in, I can’t see Father Tony because he’s sitting behind a screen. That’s how it’s supposed to be. There’s a kneeler on my side of the screen, so if I didn’t want the priest to see me, I could just kneel there and then sneak out when I was finished and he’d never know it was me. At least that’s the theory. Grandma always goes behind the screen, even though she’s almost best friends with Father Mac. He must know her voice by now.
Most younger people don’t bother with the screen and instead talk face-to-face. I walk past the screen and sit in the chair that’s opposite Father Tony.
He makes the sign of the cross over me.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been …” I’m supposed to tell him how long it’s been since my last confession. Did I go during Lent? I must have. “About three months, I think …”
He doesn’t say anything. Usually the priest waits until the end.
“I accuse myself of the following sins.” I should have thought about this more. I haven’t done a proper examination of my conscience. I was mostly thinking of all my problems. “I do not love this girl Brandy as much as a Christian should. Actually, I don’t love her at all. I don’t even like her.” I pause.
Father Tony is looking down at his hands, which are folded in his lap. He’s still listening.
“I was very rude to my mom’s friend Gina, and to Mom too. I never understand that commandment. I know I’m supposed to honor my mother, but what if she’s planning to do something really bad?”
Maybe because I make it a question, this time he says something.
“Saint Augustine tells us we’re to hate the sin but love the sinner. I think it’s like that when we’re talking about respecting our parents. You honor your mother because she gave you life. That doesn’t mean you have to approve of everything she does.”
“Well, I certainly don’t approve of her going out with Jake next weekend. She’s a married woman. That’s a mortal sin. I do love her, you know. I don’t want her to go straight to hell.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Lucy. It isn’t a sin for her to go out with a friend, even if it’s a male friend.”
“Could I go to hell because I hate Brandy?”
“God isn’t quick to throw people into hell. Where do you get these ideas from anyway?”
“Grandma has a lot of old books. Have you read about the visions those kids saw in Fatima? All those flames and people screaming?”
“Yes, I’ve read it. But they were visions, you know, not the real thing. Let’s forget about hell for a bit and talk about Brandy.”
That’s about the same thing if you ask me. “What about her?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “what is she like?”
“She’s much bigger than me, and she has black hair with blue streaks in it.”
“But what kind of a person is she?”
“Mean! She’s always pushing me around and calling me names. If she ever catches me alone, she’ll probably beat me up.”
“Has she said anything that might give a clue as to why she’s picking on you?”
“First time she laid eyes on me, she said I should go to the elementary school.”
He nods.
“Then I asked the teacher about something in class, and after that, it got really bad. She thought I was sucking up to the teacher.”
“What sort of a student is Brandy?”
“A bad one. She doesn’t do her work half the time.”
“Do you think she might be jealous because you’re a good student?”
I don’t believe it for a minute, but I don’t want to sound rude. “I guess it’s possible,” I say.
“Maybe you could help her.”
I think there’s something to be said for the idea of letting priests get married. Maybe they should also have regular jobs, like some protestant ministers do. It would help them get a grip on reality. The problem with priests spending all their time praying and saying masses is that they haven’t a clue about what life is really about. I can’t believe this man is suggesting that I help Brandy with her homework.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t be willing, but there’s no way that’s going to happen.” What part of “she’ll probably beat me up” doesn’t he get?
“Is there anything more you have to confess, Lucy?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“For your penance, say a prayer for Brandy each morning and night this coming week, and I want you to watch her closely. See if there’s any way you could show love toward her, even if you don’t feel it.”
Father Mac always gives me Hail Marys or Our Fathers to pray. What kind of a penance is this? “Yes, Father.”
“And now I absolve you of all your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in the peace of Christ.”
When I get back to the pew, I kneel down to do the first part of my penance. I try to think of something to pray about for Brandy. My mind is blank at first. I wonder why God makes people mean like that. That is the clue, I think. God did make her, and He can’t want her to be the kind of person she is.
I bow my head and pray, “Our Father in heaven, look down with favor on your child Brandy. You’ve got to be able to do something with her.”
The choir is starting up for the opening hymn. I make the sign of the cross and stand up to sing with Siobhan and Dad.
When Dad takes me home Sunday afternoon, Gina’s car is parked in front of our trailer. No wonder Ian doesn’t marry her. She never stays home. I lift the dog out of the van and carry her into the trailer. I put her down just inside the door, and go to my room to take off my backpack. By the time I get back to the kitchen, Gina has picked the dog up and has her on her lap. I pretend I don’t notice.
“Have a good weekend?” I ask Mom.
“Quiet.”
I look in the fridge to see if there’s something to drink. I find a little can of juice.
“Gina and Ian have found a town house,” Mom says.
My heart stops. I make myself take a breath. I don’t faint or anything, so I guess my heart must have started up again.
“Three bedrooms,” says Gina. “And Ian won’t have an excuse for not helping me cook or do dishes anymore. The kitchen is big enough for two people.”
And I suppose they allow dogs.
“So, when are you moving?” I ask.
“The end of May.”
I just nod. The dog is still on her lap. “I’ve got homework I should do.” I start toward my bedroom. There is a small thud and the scratching of little dog nails on the kitchen linoleum. The dog’s jumped off Gina’s knee; she follows me into my room.
I close the door behind us, but not before I hear Gina say, “So much for dogs being loyal. I think my Lucy’s getting so she likes your Lucy better than she likes me.”
And so she should. I wouldn’t just dump her with someone else so I could go live with a boyfriend. Gina expects us to treat the dog like a lamp or a coffee table that we’ve been storing for her. As soon as she moves to her new town house, she’ll want her “property” back.
I’m depressed all evening. At bedtime, I’m so busy praying for the dog that I almost forget I’m supposed to pray for Brandy. When I remember, I just ask God to make her a nicer person.