ALL TALK

Art by MOrtiz. More art at IG: _miiart_

It was time.

In about 10 seconds, she’s going to come through those doors and take a quick look around, like she was ashamed of what she’s about to do. And then, seeing just the normal crowd minding their own business, she’s going to walk quickly towards me.

She’ll lean forward, keeping her voice in a low whisper, speaking slowly but urgently. Most of the time, I find myself leaning forward too, to catch her every word, hear every lilt in her voice, feel her very breath wrapped around her secrets.

In the three minutes or so that she would speak, her eyes would be lowered and unseeing. Mine, on the other hand, were transfixed on her eyelids. I have often wondered what would happen if she looked up. But then the fear of losing myself in those eyes takes over and I breathe a prayer that she never does.

Our talks were never very long, nor very substantial. She’d tell me about the little things she thinks she’s done wrong and I’d reassure her that I’d forgive her. And I always do. Because the things she does, God bless her, barely qualify as sins anyway. Sometimes, I felt like telling her about my sins but that’s not what our talks were about.

“Father?”

I gave a start. I looked through the screen to my right and saw a middle aged woman already kneeling there.

“I’m here, my child.” I answered automatically.

“Father, forgive me for I have sinned. It has been 3 weeks since my last confession. In the last three weeks…”

            She droned on and on while I kept my eyes on the doors, waiting.