This Boy's Life Read Free Page B

planet on the other end of your line. Nothing came to mind. I didn’t see how I could go through with it, but in the end I hauled myself down to the church and kept my appointment. To have skipped it would have called attention to all my other absences and possibly provoked a visit from Sister James to my mother. I couldn’t risk having the two of them compare notes.
    Sister James met me as I was coming into the rectory. She asked if I was ready and I said I guessed so.
    “It won’t hurt,” she said. “No more than a shot, anyway.”
    We walked over to the church and down the side aisle to the confessional. Sister James opened the door for me. “In you go,” she said. “Make a good one now.”
    I knelt with my face to the screen as we had been told to do and said, “Bless me Father for I have sinned.”
    I could hear someone breathing loudly on the other side. After a time he said, “Well?”
    I folded my hands together and closed my eyes and waited for something to present itself.
    “You seem to be having some trouble.” His voice was deep and scratchy.
    “Yes sir.”
    “Call me Father. I’m a priest, not a gentleman. Now then, you understand that whatever gets said in here stays in here.”
    “Yes Father.”
    “I suppose you’ve thought a lot about this. Is that right?”
    I said that I had.
    “Well, you’ve just given yourself a case of nerves, that’s all. How about if we try again a little later. Shall we do that?”
    “Yes please, Father.”
    “That’s what we’ll do, then. Just wait outside a second.”
    I stood and left the confessional. Sister James came toward me from where she’d been standing against the wall. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” she asked.
    “I’m supposed to wait,” I told her.
    She looked at me. I could see she was curious, but she didn’t ask any questions.
    The priest came out soon after. He was old and very tall and walked with a limp. He stood close beside me, and when I looked up at him I saw the white hair in his nostrils. He smelled strongly of tobacco. “We had a little trouble getting started,” he said.
    “Yes, Father?”
    “He’s just a bit nervous is all,” the priest said. “Needs to relax. Nothing like a glass of milk for that.”
    She nodded.
    “Why don’t we try again a little later. Say twenty minutes?”
    “We’ll be here, Father.”
    Sister James and I went to the rectory kitchen. I sat at a steel cutting table while she poured me a glass of milk. “You want some cookies?” she asked.
    “That’s all right, Sister.”
    “Sure you do.” She put a package of Oreos on a plate and brought it to me. Then she sat down. With her arms crossed, hands hidden in her sleeves, she watched me eat and drink. Finally she said, “What happened, then? Cat get your tongue?”
    “Yes, Sister.”
    “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
    “I know.”
    “Maybe you’re just thinking of it wrong,” she said.
    I stared at my hands on the tabletop.
    “I forgot to give you a napkin,” she said. “Go on and lick them. Don’t be shy.”
    She waited until I looked up, and when I did I saw that she was younger than I’d thought her to be. Not that I’d given much thought to her age. Except for the really old nuns with canes or facial hair they all seemed outside of time, without past or future. But now—forced to look at Sister James across the narrow space of this gleaming table—I saw her differently. I saw an anxious woman of about my mother’s age who wanted to help me without knowing what kind of help I needed. Her good will worked strongly on me. My eyes burned and my throat swelled up. I would have surrendered to her if only I’d known how.
    “It probably isn’t as bad as you think it is,” Sister James said. “Whatever it is, someday you’ll look back and you’ll see that it was natural. But you’ve got to bring it to the light. Keeping it in the dark is what makes it feel so bad.” She added, “I’m not asking you to tell