Page 27 of Forget About Me

Words scrabble their way up my throat to fill that silence even as my jaw does its best to hang on to them. “I... I also can’t stop… stop feeling anger and other… things.”

More silence. I think. My heart’s pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else.

“Anger is a powerful agent. It can be a fuel for right action. It can be a cleansing fire that leaves room for growth, if handled skillfully.”

My jaw drops. Breaking protocol, I try to see through the screen. “Um, where’s Father Signorelli? Is he okay?” Our parish priest is ancient and hasn’t been looking healthy lately.

“Father Signorelli is attending to some personal business. I am Father Krausnick. I’m filling in.”

“Oh, sorry. Okay.”

“Let’s unpack your sins. You were angry with your brothers. How old are they?

“Nineteen and seventeen.”

“Sometimes when we serve others, we deny them the right to serve themselves.”

The way this usually goes? Father Signorelli listens to my sins and tells me to say a bunch of Our Fathers and do something nice for someone, which is why I do my brothers’ laundry and help them with their homework in the first place. Taking care of them makes me feel better about myself. “So, are you saying that I should stop doing things for my brothers?”

“Guilt is an indulgence that smothers self-compassion. Shame is a heavy shroud that snuffs out love for the self.”

This guy is so far off script that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do or say next. Did he say this kind of stuff to Mrs. O’Brien and Mrs. Rinaldi? Not that I can imagine either of those ladies doing anything sinful beyond coveting someone else’s flower garden.

“To live is to sin. To be human is to sin. To deny these truths is hubris. Grace comes when we transcend the mind’s limits and accept our faults as opportunities for growth.”

As his words filter through my confusion, the hamster wheel that powers my brain hitches to a stop. Some part of me floats up until I can see myself from the outside, see how pissed off I am and how hard I work to hide that anger. How I stuff every hour of every day with dutiful obligations that I tell myself make me good. Deserving of life.

“It’s a sin to ignore God’s benevolence, the gifts he’s blessed us with. It’s a sin to forgo the simple joys of life. And it’s a sin to deny love. Think on this.”

“Um… okay. I mean, yes, Father.”

As odd as his suggestions are, something tells me that I need to hang onto this feeling with both hands.

“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”

"For His mercy endures forever."

"The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace."

"Thanks be to God."

Gifts, joy, love. Think on them. That’s it. No penance.

Father Signorelli’s dismissal always leaves me with a dogged sense of purpose. Now, as I step out of the darkened box and into the dusty light of the chapel, I’m weightless. Free, even. Like, any time I need to, I can float up, up and away in a beautiful balloon.

Fueled by hope.

The more Ben and I work together, the more fun I have. I think I’m actually really good at this training thing. Then there’s Ben. Somehow we’ve fallen back into the way things used to be between us. Goofing around, teasing each other. There is an added tension underneath everything, which could be attributed to a whole laundry list of things. Part of me wants to figure out what it’s about and part of me wants to stuff it away like I do every uncomfortable feeling.

The final performance ofRomeo and Julietis tonight. The tickets Ben gave me have been sitting on my bureau taunting me. I’m not a huge Shakespeare fan, but curiosity, as well as yesterday’s confession experience, convince me to check it out. So, after finishing up the dishes from my family’s Sunday afternoon dinner, I decide to just go.

A couple of hours later, sitting alone as the stage lights fade to black for the last time, I’m glad I didn’t call Cindy or ask my mom if she wanted to come with me. I need to be alone with everything the play has stirred up. Well, alone with a hundred strangers, half of whom are loudly crying along with me.

The tragedy onstage wasn’t just about two star-crossed lovers. Ben’s pain—the haunted loneliness, the anguished guilt—was all too real. Nobody’s that good of an actor.

In the early scenes, RomeowasTony as a teen—a swaggering but lovable horndog. But as the deaths multiplied, Ben seemed to draw on something deep inside himself.

His Romeo does remind me of the ads that I now notice everywhere: on bus stops as well as billboards. I’ve been wondering why I never recognized him in them before, but now I get it. Model Ben and Romeo Ben are hollowed out by a despair that I never could have imagined inmyBen.

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