Page 9 of Soft Tissue Damage
“Your thoughts reveal your true character. You must pray to be rid of your sinful thoughts, so they do not lead you into more sin.”
“Sometimes I wonder if praying really does anything.”
The priest breathes sharply through his nose. Now I’ve done it.
“Wait outside,” he seethes in a low voice.
As I emerge from the confessional, I see Father Connell marching over to my aunts and gesticulating as he speaks. A few minutes later, he marches down the long aisle of the church. That’s not supposed to happen. He’s supposed to tell me my penance, and then I perform it.
“I have never been more humiliated in my life,” Astrid says as I approach them, two red spots burning in her cheeks. “Father Connell told us that there were such shocking things coming out of your mouth that he could not continue to hear your confession.”
“You have shamed us,” Frieda says coldly, peering down her long, sharp nose at me. “Everything you do reflects on the women who raised you.”
“Whatever I say to Father Connell in the confessional is supposed to be private,” I protest.
Astrid gasps. “How dare you suggest Father Connell would break the sanctity of confessional. He spoke generally about your sinful ways.”
I rack my brain trying to remember what I said that was so terrible. Can I not voice my doubts? “Father Connell was rude and shaming to me.”
“What you thought was rude and shaming was him pricking your conscience and challenging you to conform your life to Christ more faithfully,” Astrid says.
“We are gravely disappointed in you, Elena,” Friedasays. “These are not the actions of someone who is trying to prove they are a good and moral person.”
My stomach twists up in knots as I watch them turn and stride away from me. Learning my mother’s identity seems farther away than ever.
I leavemy double shift dying for a shower. It’s been a long day of running back and forth to the kitchen, bussing heavy plates, and smiling like my life depends on it, which it kind of does. No smiles mean no tips. I learned that lesson quickly at Archer’s Diner. It doesn’t matter if I’m exhausted or miserable, I have to smile. If my boss stares at my breasts instead of looking me in the eyes, I have to smile. If he tries to cheat us out of some of our pay, I have to smile.
I think the only time I smiled genuinely in the past week was when a tall, good-looking man who turned out to be Leon’s dad got down on his knees to tie my shoelace. I have wondered if Mr. Grant only did that for me because he knew who I was, but the surprise on his face when he realized Leon and I knew each other seemed authentic. That means Mr. Grant was nice to me just because he wanted to be, which gives me a warm, melty feeling.
I spy Leon’s car as he starts the engine. I get in and lean over to give him a kiss. “Thank you for picking me up. You didn’t have to.”
He pushes his dark hair back and gives me a quick smile. “If I didn’t, I would barely see you this week.”
There’s a note of recrimination in his voice. I wish I could see him more often as well, but my schedule is crazy right now, and it’s going to stay that way for a while.
“I miss you, too,” I tell him.
Leon puts music on as he drives me home, and I lean back in my seat, close my eyes, and smile. A few moments of peace with my boyfriend. I stretch my aching feet and sigh.
When I was sixteen, I was so miserable that I wondered if it was even worth going on. I scribbled reams of lurid, violent fantasies in my diary about all the people who were hurting me. My aunts. Teachers who gave me bad grades that I was certain I didn’t deserve. Girls at school who made fun of me for my old, ugly clothes. The depth and darkness of my unhappiness frightened me, and so I made a list of all the things that I believed would bring me true happiness. Learning my real mother’s name was the first thing on my list. Being free from my aunts’ critical and contemptuous words and looks was a close second. Renting a place of my own. Getting a job. A boyfriend. A boyfriend would mean that someone has chosen to love me, protect me, and always think of me. Often I despaired, believing that it was never going to happen. It took me more than four years to achieve everything on my wish list. Well, almost everything.
Life might be challenging right now, but at least it’s my life, and look at the wonderful boyfriend I have. Smart,cute, funny, and on the way to being successful. He studies hard at college and earns good grades, and now I’ve met Mr. Grant I can see why Leon is so well-adjusted and capable. His father is the perfect role model. I might not spend as much time with Leon as we both want, but I’m always thinking of him and our future. With his brains and my determination, I think we’ll be able to make a good life together. Renovate a house. Adopt a dog. Have a family one day. It sounds like heaven.
“What are you up to tomorrow?” Leon asks me.
Opening my eyes, I think for a moment. “Two shifts at the diner. How about you?”
“Class in the morning. I wish you could blow off work so we could hang out tomorrow night.”
“I wish I could too.” But there’s no chance of that when rent’s due next week.
“I can’t wait for summer break so we can actually spend some time together,” Leon says.
My heart sinks. I still haven’t found the right time to tell my boyfriend that I’ll need to pick up more shifts over the summer, not fewer. It’s embarrassing to explain to Leon that I don’t have much choice when I’m barely keeping my head above water. Between living expenses and paying back my aunts, I’m always stretched thin. I’m not sure Leon understands money worries. I don’t know that Leon’s parents pay for his tuition and living costs while he attends the expensive Blackport University, but seeing as he doesn’t have a job, I assume they do.
“Do you want to see a movie this weekend?” he asks.
I hesitate, because I wanted to take him out the next time we had a date. I remember Aunt Astrid hungrily counting my tips and shoving them in her handbag. I clench my hands so tightly that my nails cut into my palms.
