Page 7 of Property of The Grump

“Quite possibly, though I reckon I’ve done fairly well at securing the confessional booth. No secrets have made their way out yet.”

She knocks on the wall twice, a hint of wildflowers sweeping through the screen as she moves. “Checking for soundproofing. Am I allowed to do that, or did I just sin or something?”

“Not that I know of.”

“That you know of.” There’s a smile in her tone. “This job seems complicated. Does anyone ever come in confessing like a major crime?”

“Haven’t had any major crimes yet. Most confess sins related to lust and dishonesty.”

“So, affairs?”

“Affairs, impatience, jealousy. We are human, after all.”

“So, what do you do when a married woman tells you she’s been touching herself to thoughts of the police chief?” She’s barely finished her sentence when I hear a sharp, fleshy pop followed by her muffled voice. “I shouldn’t have said that. See… this is why I don’t belong here. Sorry.”

“You belong here if you believe you belong here, and… we all sin. So, if someone comes in with that confession, I would remind them of God’s mercy, I’d assign three Hail Mary’s a day for a week, and encourage self-control. I’d then mention some guided readings from Corinthians, and I’d advise that the person perform an act of kindness to redirect her mind and spirit.” I pause for a long moment. “Is this your confession? Are you lusting after the police chief?”

There’s a shrug in her voice. “Guess you’ll never know.”

“A hard-to-get confession. I like this. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a challenge within the confessional.” I grin. “So, tell me, how many times a day do you think about this man?”

“So many times.” There’s a grin in her voice as she talks. “I think about him the second I wake up in the morning until I’m falling asleep at night. The lust is uncontrollable, really. See, he’s got this constant postnasal drip that just does something for me. I doubt one act of kindness will be enough given the things I’ve thought.” She’s on the verge of laughter as she speaks, and I’m not sure I’ve been this happy to have a conversation in months, years maybe. “There’s something more, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, he’s nearly seventy years old and I’m still in my twenties. I’m sure that’s double the sin, right?”

Okay, she’s young.

I hold my laughter at bay and stay reserved out of the scant chance that all of this is real. “These kinds of impure thoughts should be treated with quickness. I’d recommend two acts of kindness this week along with the before-mentioned prayers.”

There’s silence for a long moment as my mind reels with thoughts of how to keep the conversation going. This has never happened before. Then again, I’m usually not laughing in my confessional booth either.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” She swallows hard. “I’m not really lusting after the police chief.”

“Kind of figured. Is there something else you’d like to talk about?”

Again, there’s silence. “No, but thank you for listening. I, ugh, I should get going. I only stopped out of curiosity. I wasn’t expecting the whole confessional thing, but it’s been nice to talk.”

“You say you stopped out of curiosity.” I stretch out the words unintentionally, as though my body doesn’t want her to leave. “Do you think that means something?”

“So, you’re saying signs exist?” There’s a rustling I can’t identify on her end of the booth. “How do I know if this was a sign?”

“Divine presence often manifests as inner peace. Do you feel inner peace having stopped here?”

“This is the first time I’ve smiled in months, but isthatthe sign or is the sign supposed to be more glaringly obvious? Is it like a slap in the face or a subtle change in the wind, ‘cause if God has been sending me subtle messages, I’m not sure I’d pick up on them.”

I swallow back a grin of my own at the thought of what her sweet smile must look like. “God welcomes all with mercy. Ifyou believe you’re receiving a sign and it leads you to peace, you should pray on it.”

“I’ve never prayed before. How do I do it? Do I just say whatever’s on my mind, and God’s like… listening?”

“Basically, yes.” I readjust in the hard wooden chair I keep meaning to replace as I direct my gaze toward the metal grate. I tell myself it’s so my voice will project more clearly, though deep down I know it’s because I’m still searching for the details of her face, the shape of her body.

Why? Why the hell am I searching for the shape of her body?

“You can start with your own words. You can start with a specific prayer, or you can simply say, Lord, help me. Any words from your heart are good.”