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FailSafe
His name was Father Abraham, and he was the kindest man in the world. Some people thought he was part-Indian because he had the most beautiful black hair; it hung around his ears and blue eyes in a gentle way.
Like any good middle-class white girl, I went to church every Sunday. I liked dressing up in the flowery dresses and the shoes that would click-clack against hard floors. I liked tucking my hair behind my ears to show off my cute little earrings that matched the ribbon tied around my middle. I liked reaching behind me and touching the silk bow in the back, just to make sure it was still nice and tight. I liked Sunday School the best because we got to color pictures and make things and talk about what a good person Jesus was. I liked looking at pictures of Jesus with his long brown hair and beard, his arms spread and a gentle smile on his face as he loved such a hateful little world.
Sometimes I got confused.
“Why is Jesus wearing a dress?” I once asked my Sunday School teacher.
“What?” she frowned.
I didn’t like the look. “There,” I quickly said, pointing to the picture I had been looking at in my child-Bible.
“Oh honey, that’s not a dress- it’s a robe. They wore those back when Jesus was alive. Men should never wear dresses, honey. Remember that.”
I remembered, but Jesus’ robe didn’t look like the robe that Mommy had, which was big and comfortable and tied around her stomach. I didn’t ask again though.
Afterwards, I would go to mass. Sometimes I fell asleep, my head on Grandpa’s lap. Other times I was wide awake, and I liked to look at all the people and the fancy clothes they were wearing. I felt like church was the only place people tried to look their best, and I thought it was kind of sad nobody tried to look as nice any other time.
“This is my granddaughter- sweetie, come here.” I went over to him and he put both his big, wrinkly hands on my little shoulders. The itchy seams on my dress pressed into my tender skin a little- just enough to make me squirm. “Look honey, this is Father Abraham.”
I looked up at him with my big brown eyes, and his smile felt like it was an extended gesture from Jesus. “Hi,” I managed.
“Hello there,” he replied gently, then crouched down so we could see eye-to-eye. I really liked that, because sometimes I got tired of looking up at all the tall adults all the time. “Did you have fun today?”
I thought of the game we played in Sunday School. “Yes!” I grinned, but then stopped as I thought about mass. I looked at the floor. “But I fell asleep a little. I’m sorry.” I had never cared before, but I felt guilty about it now, in front of such a nice man.
He just laughed at me though, a kind laugh that made me smile again and look at him. “That’s alright. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“Okay!” I thought he was the nicest, most wonderful man in the world.
“I’ll see you next Sunday?”
I turned my head and looked up at Grandpa for confirmation, and he smiled and said “Yes.”
I couldn’t wait.
After we prayed for one last time and Father Abraham wished everyone a good week and good health, I bolted from the pew and ran down the aisle.
“Father, Father!” I yelled excitedly, grinning madly as I came up to him.
“Hello again,” he smiled widely, once-again crouching down so I could see him better. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Me too!” I gushed. My heart felt like a butterfly in my chest because I was so happy to see him. “I didn’t fall asleep today!”
He laughed, “I’m glad!”
“I really like your voice,” I told him, because I felt like it was important that he knew.
Father Abraham smiled again, then reached up and tucked some of my sandy blonde hair behind my ear. His hands were big and soft and beautiful. I wondered if what I was feeling was how all those people healed by Jesus felt, and I got very excited. I felt something rise in my chest as Father Abraham looked at me a long time, his fingertips lingering on my jaw. I almost asked him what was wrong, because he was holding so still, but then Grandpa called my name. I turned my head and Father Abraham’s hand fell from my chin.
None of the boys in middle school were like Father Abraham, though. He was so tall and mature; and very cute. I fantasized about marrying him when I got older and being a preacher’s wife. At the time it seemed like the most perfect dream.
“I wish everyone a wonderful week, and wonderful health,” he smiled, bowing his head as people chorused “thank yous” and “amens”.
I quickly ran my fingers through my hair and checked my dress, then walked down the aisle to see him. I’d been doing the same thing ever since I was nine, but lately it seemed really important that I looked as good as possible when I saw him.
“Hi, Father,” I breathed as I came up to him. He turned from the elderly lady he had been talking to and smiled in a way that made me blush happily. I fisted some of the dress by my legs in nervous excitement.
“Hello there! How are you?” he tilted his head, genuinely curious, as he crouched down. I had grown, so now when he did it I was taller than him. I liked how it felt, to look down into his eyes instead of up. I didn’t feel so small.
“I’m good!” I answered happily, then rushed to ask, “How are you?”
“I’m good now that you’re here,” he smiled. I blushed again, and wondered if he could see it staining my cheeks. I hoped not. “How is school?”
“Fine. I get a lot more homework now since I’m older, but I’m making a lot of friends.”
“I’m glad,” he chuckled, reaching a hand out and touching my upper arm. “I like your dress- is it new?”
“Yes,” I managed, feeling like I was going to explode inside from happiness and embarrassment.
His wonderful blue eyes met my dull, ordinary brown ones as he smiled in his own special way. “I like it a lot.”
“Thank you.” Could he tell my voice was shaky? Higher? I tried to make it normal again.
“You’re almost a woman, aren’t you?”
“Hopefully!”
He looked at me in a curious way that I couldn’t place. He almost looked sad. “That’s too bad.”
I was confused. “What?”
“Ah, Father Abraham!”
We both turned as my grandpa found his way towards us. Father Abraham dropped his hand from my arm and stood, turning to face my grandpa with a smile. “Yes, hello there. Enjoy the service?”
I looked up at Father Abraham, liking that way his hair looked against his long, white priest-robe. I wondered if it was a bad thing to be a woman, and if he would like me once I became one.
“Okay!” I nodded, beaming. I was more than happy to stay and talk to Father Abraham for a bit longer. At the thought of him, I reached up to pet my hair, making sure every strand was in place. I also checked my dress; I had worn my nice black one. It was velvet around the chest and then silky around my legs, even though it barely came to my knees. I was wearing my black heels too- my new ones that made me feel like I was older.
“Okay,” he smiled. “I’ll only be about twenty minutes, but I know how much you like the Father and he agreed he would be more than happy to watch you. Everything sound good?”
“Yeah; you don’t have to worry about me!” I grinned impishly.
My grandpa just chuckled and mussed my hair a little, before going into the church. I quickly fixed it and hurried after him.
I smiled and waved to the few people that said hi to me, and then took a seat beside my grandpa. I liked mass enough, but I was excited for afterwards, where I could spend a whole twenty minutes with Father Abraham! I couldn’t wait.
That day he talked about retribution. How if you did something bad, hopefully by accident, it would be alright if you asked for God’s forgiveness. I smiled at the crucifixion of Jesus that stood tall behind Father Abraham’s altar. He died for our sins; he was the reason people got a second chance. I was reassured that I could still get into Heaven, even if I sinned (though I would try my hardest not to). He talked about all the really bad people that still had a chance, if they really, really prayed. People that killed other people, robbers, men that loved other men, people that cheated… all kinds of really awful people. I felt happy that they had a second chance because of God and his son. Who else would be so kind?
As soon as Father Abraham spoke his usual closing, I dashed up to the altar. “Father, Father! Guess what? I get to stay with you a little today!”
“I know!” he laughed, touching the white cloth draped over his shoulders. “I’m very excited!”
“Me too!” I gushed as my grandpa came up.
“Thank you very much, Father,” he smiled, shaking the other man’s hand.
“Not a problem,” Father Abraham returned, clapping my grandpa on the shoulder with his free hand. “Take your time.”
“I’ll be back soon,” he told me, kissing the top of my head. I quickly fixed my hair and told him goodbye, then watched him leave.
I stood close to Father Abraham as he talked to other people of the church, a few of them talking to me. I watched him being so nice to everybody, and I was sure that there was nobody nicer than him. Except maybe Jesus.
As Father Abraham said goodbye to the last person, he turned to me with a happy little sigh. “Well? Shall we go back to my office?”
“Okay!” I bounced, quickly following him down a hall I’d never been down before, to his office. It wasn’t very big, but it had stain-glass windows which made it look really nice. I watched him as he took off his long white robe and hang it on a coat hanger. I had never seen him without it on; underneath he was wearing black slacks and a nice blue button-down. A silver cross hung on a chain around his neck, dangling by the third or fourth button on his shirt.
“Did you enjoy the service today?” he asked me, straightening the robe a little.
“Yes!” I grinned. “I really liked that even bad people got another chance. Because, maybe they just made one mistake, you know? And it’s nice that they have a change to get into Heaven anyway.”
“You like that?” he asked, turning to smile at me.
I smiled and nodded, not trusting my voice.
“You know, you’re almost a woman now.” I watched him unbutton his sleeves and roll them up. I’d never talked to him like this; usually he was crouched in front of me with his long white robe on. This was something new. “Do you know what a Confessional is?”
I shook my head.
“It’s a something I sit inside, then people come to the outside and talk to me about the bad things they’ve done.”
“Why do they sit outside?” I frowned a little, confused.
“So I don’t see their face; so they feel safer,” he smiled.
“Oh.”
“So they tell me about their sins, then I try to make sure they don’t do it again, then if they pray enough I tell them that God will forgive them if they continue to lead a good life, and they walk away happy.”
“It sounds like a nice place.”
“It is,” he nodded. “See, I like that people get second chances too. It makes life a little more fun. Say,” he perked up, like he’d just had a brilliant idea. “Would you like to see the Confessional here?”
“Sure,” I shrugged.
“Come with me,” he smiled, then led me out his office and further down the hall.
Mass was in the main room of the church while Sunday School had been in the basement. I had no idea the church had a back room with its own door, and in that little room was what looked like a big brown box.
“That’s it?” I asked.
Father Abraham just smiled down at me and led me to the little door on the box. He opened it and gestured for me to step inside, so I did. I found the little bench and sat on it, looking at the far wall. A crucifix hung there, and I relaxed a little at the familiarity.
Father Abraham came in as well and shut the door, though he was just a little too tall to stand upright. He sat beside me, because it was the only place to sit. I could smell his cologne because he was so close. It made my heart flutter and my cheeks go warm.
“It’s nice and peaceful in here,” he murmured.
I risked a glance up to his face and saw that his eyes were closed and his head was tilted back. He looked very relaxed.
“Maybe one day I’ll talk to you from in here,” he suddenly said, looking over at me.
I laughed a little, avoiding his eyes and shaking my head. “I’m not planning on sinning any time soon.”
“That’s good,” he laughed. It was such a wonderful sound. “So how’s school?”
“Fine,” I shrugged. “Why do you always ask?” I wondered out of sudden curiosity.
“I just want to know,” he smiled. “Last time you told me you made lots of friends?”
“Yup!” I smiled, thinking of one girl in particular. She was in almost all of my classes and I really liked her. She made me laugh.
“Any boyfriends?”
An odd laugh, twisted with embarrassment, escaped me. “No!”
“Really? No boy is interested in such a pretty little girl?”
I bowed my head, my cheeks flaring up hot. I jumped a little as I felt his large, beautiful hand on my leg, above my knee. His skin felt cool against mine, and I blushed even harder.
“Such a pretty little girl…” he murmured.
And for the first time, instead of feeling giddy at his words, I felt a sudden jab of nervous fear.
His hand moved higher. I yelped a little and tried to move back because I didn’t want him to touch me there but there was nowhere to go. He slid off the bench and in front of me. I tried to twist away but his other hand was on my arm and was gripping me tightly. There was nowhere for me to run in the tight dark space. I tried to yell at him but my heart was stuck in my throat and my fear was heavy as everything in my stomach. My tears felt hot on my cheeks but even through them I could see Jesus on the cross over his shoulder as he forced his big wet mouth over mine.
Even when his lips left mine, there was no one to hear me scream in the big empty church.
The way his cross bounced against his chest.
The way one heel dangled off my foot.
The way the air felt so close and so terribly hot.
The way my panties hung off my left ankle, waving back and forth.
I remembered how his cologne mixed with his breath smelled as he panted over me. I remembered how my tears leaked into my ears and tickled a little. I remembered how my hair stuck to my sweaty forehead. I remembered the pain of my back hitting the back of the bench. I remembered screaming until I felt like my throat was bleeding.
I remembered Jesus’ eyes on me the entire time.
I remembered the pain so hard I forgot it.
I remembered my heart breaking wide open in my chest.
I told my grandfather I was sick.
I hid the bloody underwear and threw away the dress and the shoes.
I cut my hair and my mom got angry because I did a bad job and we had to go to a professional to fix it up.
Everybody thought I was hitting puberty.
Everybody thought it was kind of cute that I was growing up.
They didn’t know that I had grown up too fast.
Words took on a different meaning.
I didn’t like to be around people so I pushed them all away.
I didn’t want anybody to touch me ever so I got angry anytime somebody tried.
I prayed to God to not accept Father Abraham.
I prayed for Father Abraham to burn in Hell.
Then I felt guilty and took it back.
Because it was my fault.
That’s what he told me.
“It’s your fault, you know,” he had grunted as he pulled up his pants. He had tucked in his blue shirt and zipped his trousers. “You tempted me. If you hadn’t tempted me, I wouldn’t have done that.”
I couldn’t feel anything, so I didn’t say anything.
Only later did I realize it was the truth.
Why else would such a kind and gentle man do something so (painfulagonizinghurtfulscaryexcruciatingdamaging) mean if wasn’t my fault?
I liked baggy jeans and oversized t-shirts.
I liked being ugly because then no boy would look at me.
I never went to church again.
Not because I was afraid.
But because I knew that Jesus had abandoned me.
Nothing I could say, no amount of prayers, could make Jesus forgive me for what I’d done.
I had tempted a priest. And I had paid the price for it.
I didn’t like to sleep because Father Abraham would be waiting for me in the darkness of my nightmares. I didn’t like to speak because then people wanted to ask me more and get closer to me. I didn’t like to do much of anything but hurt myself, because I felt like that was all I was good for. My grandparents gave up on me and my parents focused on my new baby brother.
I liked to sneak out my window and walk around the dark, empty streets of my neighborhood. I felt very peaceful, all alone. I didn’t mind the danger. I didn’t feel much then.
I skipped classes a lot because it was easy to escape my high school and I hated sitting still for a long time. I liked walking. I liked walking in the rain or in the snow because it made me feel something other than the constant agony of my damaged soul. I felt like maybe they could clean me, at least a little, so I wouldn’t be so disgusting anymore.
Sometimes I walked so much I felt like I was looking for my happy ending. Or at least my life. All the years that had gone past that I hadn’t paid any attention to. But it all hop-skipped away from my grasp, turning and disappearing into the shadows of my insanity.
One day I was walking downtown, snow crunching underneath my boots, enjoying my breath as it froze before my face. I crossed a street without looking for traffic, passing all the little old shops that barely clung to existence. I stopped in front of a tall parking garage and slipped inside because I could no longer feel my legs through my jeans or my face, even though my short messy hair was covered by a black beanie. I found a door to the staircase and opened it.
Every step that I took echoed around me indefinitely. Every step that I climbed made me feel stronger. Soon I was looking up for the roof instead of down at the ground. I climbed over the chain that blocked it off and ignored the NO TRESPASSING sign, opening the door to the roof.
The wind stole my breath as I stepped into the snow. The door shut behind me and I walked out further. There was nothing around me except the peaks of buildings, the wide grey sky, and the untouched snow spread around my feet.
I felt infinite. I felt powerless. I felt enlightened. I felt sorrow.
Then, in the face of all that purity, I felt the poison in my blood. The itch under my skin. The burning in my marrow. The inkling of reason in the very back of my brain. I stepped up to the edge and climbed up the little wall.
I looked at the long, long drop. I looked up and out. I heard a church bell ring to my right. I felt the wind stir around me. I spread my arms and fingertips tingled from the cold. I leaned back. I leaned forwards. I thought about everything. I thought about nothing.
The clouds shifted and whispered. You can’t die.
The snow displayed the poison of religion coursing through my being. The taint of my thoughts. The error of my beliefs.
Was I right?
Was I wrong?
Did it matter?
Did anything at that point?
I jutted my chin in a defiant tilt, staring right at the clouds.
Watch me.
