Page 23 of Heathens
Present
Over the next couple of days, I have the hardest time concentrating on my studies. Whenever I sit in the office at Notre Dame, or lounge at my small desk at home, I can’t stop thinking of...
Her.
Lilith.
She sent me a text of the photograph she took of me—arms out, eyes up to the sky. At the time, she probably thought I was looking up at God, but I was thinking about her.
Everything I believe in, everything I thought I wanted, is beginning to crumble.
Her soul has been chipping away at mine since that very first day, and I can feel myself reworking my soul to fit around hers.
A knock sounds on the office door. I’ve been in here, studying passages for what feels like hours, but it’s only been forty minutes.
And thirty-nine of those minutes were spent thinking about taking Lilith in the confessional.
“Come in,” I say, and Father Monsignor strides in, smiling.
“How are you, Salem?” He takes a seat before me.
I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Distracted.“
He watches me for a beat, his chestnut eyes crinkling up in the corners warmly. “Does this distraction have anything to do with the reason you were unable to help with mass a couple of nights ago?” His words aren’t accusatory. They’re just... curious. Kind.
I nod. “Yes. I feel myself spinning, Father.”
He smiles grimly, aware of the significance of that word. “Ah. I see. And what’s her name?”
Somehow, Father Monsignor has an uncanny ability to read inside of my head. He always has. When I started seminary school four years ago, he used to predict things before I did them—forgetting to light candles, forgetting my rosary beads. He’d leave notes reminding me. When my mother died four months into school, he gave me two weeks off without a fuss. He instinctively knew to give me space after that, knew to let me come to him. A mentor, a friend, someone I admire and look up to. He never once judged me. Not once.
“Lilith.” I put my face in my hands.
“Hm.” He adjusts his sleeves. “And have you committed any sins with Lilith?”
To anyone else, this question might cause the receiver to sweat, to quake in their proverbial boots. But the way he phrases everything—he encourages honesty. You can’t save a dishonest man. You can only redeem yourself by baring your soul completely.
“No. Only when I skipped mass. And numerous sinful thoughts. Thousands.”
Father Monsignor smiles. “So, just normal behavior then.”
I whip my head up. “You’re telling me that”—I look around, and lower my voice to a whisper— “thinking of all the ways I wish to take her, is normal?”
Maybe it’s because he was married before, but he just nods. Like he understands. Which, I guess he does, considering he had a wife and a family at one time.
“I’m not a believer in the sense that I think priesthood is for everyone. That everyone should become a priest. Catholicism is one of many religions practiced in the world, and the one that most called to me. And to you, seeing as you’ve spent the last four years a devoted student.” He pauses and clasps his hands together on the desk. “I think the calling to become a priest happens for a reason. That maybe you believe God speaks to you. Whether or not God really speaks to you is your prerogative.” His small eyes find mine. “Sometimes, that calling changes.”
I sit deathly still. “You don’t think I should become a priest?” It’s barely a whisper.
He chuckles. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying, if something else calls to you—if something that feels bigger, that fills your heart more than this vocation ever could, then I think you have your answer.”
I shake my head. “I barely know her.” Though I’m not being honest. Not really. I feel I do know her, and she has begun to know me.
Father Monsignor stands. “It’s a decision you will have to make yourself, Salem.”
Sighing, I nod. “I know. I know,” I repeat. I look up at him. “If your wife was still alive, would you still have chosen this path?”
He stands up straighter and contemplates my question for a minute. “I'm not sure.“ He lowers his head and slumps his shoulders a bit. “I was not a good man when I was married, Salem. I did... I regret a lot of things about that period in my life.“ He looks down at his shoes. “I still regret a lot of things. Sometimes, our souls are so tarnished, so warped, that not even priesthood can make us good again. But, I'm doing the best that I can do.“
