midnight mass

goodbye gift

TW: older man, younger woman (implied)

This summer had been a long one. Sweet and sticky like soda on skin, full of bright blue skies and trips to the beach. Stark tan lines and long night drives with my hair flowing in the wind. Crockett had become my home this summer, and with each beach side sunset or salty sea breeze, I grew more attached.

When my grandparents said I would have to leave when the summer was out, I thought I could convince them otherwise. I wasn't too worried about it, thought it would buff out and they'd see I was so much happier here. But days crept past and the remarks about packing and texts from my mother stayed. Apparently school here was too shabby for girl like me, my talents could be used elsewhere. 

So, tomorrow's the day I'm leaving. No begging or pleading on my knees will change it. I'll take the stupid ferry out to the mainland and I'll see the town in a year.

Sulking in my bedroom, the idea sends tears to my eyes and heat to my face. All my things are in boxes and suitcases, neatly packed away when I look around my room, and it sends a sob up through my throat. Quickly throwing on my shoes, I run out of the house. I just need to get away for a little.

I walk until the tears are dry on my face and dust has gathered on my converse. My little moping walk ended up at the church. A church I had never been in, mind you, despite all my grandparents pleading. I simply didn't indulge in the fantasies of religion.

But today something called me to it. The cross on the front of the run down building beckoned me and I found my feet moving forward without any resistance. When I walked in, a power fell over me that almost brought me to my knees.

The stain glass windows glittered and winked at me as I walked my way up the aisle, dragging my hand across the pews. The church was vacant, for all I knew, and I took a seat in the front row and stared into the eyes of Jesus, hanging like a dead man on the cross.

I don't know how long I sat, my mouth growing dry and my body going weak by the oppressive presence of some invisible God, when a rustling of carpet woke me from my trance.

Father Paul was a figure around town. Everyone loved him, praised him, ached for him. Trusted his guidance and hung onto every word he said. I had never spoken to him, but I'd seen him around, his dark clothing seeping into the gray that was Crockett. Standing, looming, at every public event, giving out quiet whispers and silent prayers.

Now, he was sitting next to me on the pew, not even looking at the statue of the lord, but only at me. His gaze struck into me until I couldn't help but talk.

"Hello, Father," I said, keeping it simple, unsure of what to say in this strange situation.

"Hello, dear," he started with, a small smile graced his lips as his mission of getting me to talk  came to fruition, "What brings a young lady like you in here today? I've never seen you in here before."

His words weren't accusing, but inquiring, and I felt that same oppressive power urging me to share my every thought.

"Just felt compelled, I suppose," I stared into his eyes, they were so dark, as I spoke, "Something drew me in I guess."

His eyes held a twinkle.

"The lord tends to do that to people," his voice was so low and it travelled through my body in waves, "Is something bothering you?"

He put his hand on my thigh. His hands were so big and electricity bounced on my skin where he touched me. I clenched my hands to keep myself still.

"Just sad I have to leave, I guess."