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The Penitent
By
Hayden Thorne
It was Jesse’s habit to be early for confession. It always worked well for the boy, for that little space of time offered him a chance to collect his wits and calm himself down with self-directed pep talk.
Before him and around him, the interior was bathed in the late afternoon sun, whose rays filtered through dusty, mullioned windows and flooded the area with
fading light. A bird or two would fly in through an open window and disturb the silence. In the mural behind the altar, the Virgin stood serenely triumphant; under her feet the Serpent writhed. Above her hovered two cherubs, holding a crown over her head. On their knees, friars and nuns flanked her. St. Francis stretched forth his stigmatic hands; St. Clare kept hers pressed against her breast. Beauty,
perfection, and hope beckoned quietly.
The boy unfolded the piece of paper he held. It was a page from his notebook, in which he’d listed some of his transgressions. He needed, more than ever, to be
reminded of his failures in ink and paper; otherwise, he’d forget, misremember, or gloss over particulars, and whatever absolution he’d receive from his priest wouldn’t be properly matched to the crimes committed.
He’d always listed anger for his prevailing sin, Jesse observed, mortified. How immature. He stared at the first item on his list.
"I talked back to Mr. Cadman about my Biology report because he implied that I wasn’t applying myself. I don’t know why he’d say that if he hasn’t seen me work
myself to death over a two-page analysis."
His gaze dropped to the next item.
"I talked back to Mr. Matthews after yesterday’s History test because he embarrassed me in front of the whole class. I wasn’t cheating. I was already done with my test when I just happened to blank out and stare at Ian’s paper. Did he see me copy things down? No. If anything, he still owes me an apology for
accusing me of something I never did--and will never do."
Then came the third item.
"I snapped at Mr. Barnfield because he criticized my monologue in Speech class the day before. What does he expect? He’s probably never sat down and looked at the instructions he gives us for our homework. I’m not a mind reader. I don’t see why he should go around, acting like we’re in his head all the time."
And as for that recent spat with Anthony--well, that needed some delicacy. Perhaps silence.
Father Matthew appeared five minutes after Jesse entered the chapel. The priest smiled at the boy and took his place in the confessional, but Jesse didn’t follow. In fact, he believed that he didn’t need to anymore. He felt suddenly adult-like. Independent. In control. Ergo, absolved.
He stood up and left the pew, genuflecting upon reaching the aisle and tearing the sheet of paper into little bits as he walked out of the chapel--his head cleared, his heart light, his spirit soaring.
Copyright © 2006 Hayden
Thorne
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