static_abyss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
static_abyss) wrote2019-01-16 06:44 pm
static_abyss) wrote2019-01-16 06:44 pm
LJ Idol Week 12: Seven Sundays to Salvation
From the moment of her conception, Adriana's mother, Lucia, had stood before her altar, in front of the wooden crucified Christ, and she'd asked, not for a beautiful baby, but for a baby with the wisdom of Solomon. Amid the dirty streets of the Eastern Bronx, on Mansion Street, where a pair of shoes still hung from telephone wires, Lucia, in her shared one-bedroom apartment, had kneeled and prayed.
So, Adriana Karina Lopez was born with the weight of King Solomon on her shoulders, and the hopes and dreams of her mother on her head. Which is to say, that from the moment Adriana first came into the world, she had quite a lot to live up to.
It followed then, that when Father Jose stood at the front of the altar to offer salvation, Adriana was going to say yes.
The first misa de sanacion was the third Sunday of January from 4:30pm to 7:00pm. It took place in St. Isabel of Clemence, towards the first ten pews of the church. Father Jose stood at the front of the altar, dressed all in white, for purity, for cleansing, for the forgiveness of the sins of his congregation. Father Jose was a force of nature, late forties with gray spread in streaks across his black hair. His mustache was always neatly trimmed, his brown eyes hard, and his loud booming voice always in favor of the lowest of his church.
"If your husband tells you to abandon your children or your parents, then it's time to dump your husband," he often said, unapologetic and unflinching.
Father Jose spoke of salvation with certainty and clarity. When he stood at the front of the altar, and the light of the candles hit him from the left and right, he seemed to loom over Adriana and the group of thirty that had come to the first Mass of Healing. His voice was strong, not loud, but it filled the room as though he were speaking to everyone directly.
"Believe me," Father Jose said. "If you come to this mass for seven months in a row, I can guarantee that you will never see the fires of hell."
The way Father Jose said it, determined and sure, it would have made anyone want it. His golden crown, the light that shone within him, that purity and certainty; it was salvation, and Adriana was going to do everything in her power to have it.
Luz, Adriana had long since learned, had cold hands. They sent goosebumps up her back, cold hands against Adriana's warm skin, her kisses hot and dangerous. All of Luz was dangerous, from her leather jacket to the reckless abandon with which she threw herself in Adriana's lap. Her black hair, thick as rope, her neck bare and inviting. Luz would be Adriana's undoing. Adriana knew it, deep in her gut, the way she knew her place at the family table.
"I want to live," Adriana told Luz. "I need to be saved."
"Listen to me," Luz said, her hands firm against the side of Adriana's face. "There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with me."
"I know there isn't anything wrong with you," Adriana said. "I know."
The "you" sat untested between them, Adriana's place undefined and unspoken. Adriana knew Luz wouldn't ask. It's why they worked so well together, because Luz never demanded more than Adriana was willing to give. Theirs was a relationship born of need and free of obligation. No promises made. No hearts broken.
"All right," Luz said, climbing off Adriana's lap. "I'll see you around."
She walked around the room, picking up her shirt and shoes, once by the mirror to check her makeup. Adriana watched her, watched the hypnotic sway of her hips, felt the imprint of Luz's teeth on her throat.
Stay, she wanted to say.
Ask, she thought as loud as she could.
But Luz never turned, and Adriana never called.
What it boiled down to was that Adriana wanted to live.
Luz's hands, her warm breath, the way all of Adriana responded in kind, the way her heart beat out of her chest and her hands trembled, all of it meant nothing if Adriana couldn't see the kingdom of heaven. She'd been born for it, her earliest memories bathed in the light of Santa Isabel's spires, the priests' sermons, the polished Jesus on his cross at the altar. The first memories Adriana had of her mother were of Lucia singing the church hymns. The quiet peacefulness embedded in those memories was the same Adriana felt at church. When the congregation held hands for the Our Father, something slotted into place and for a moment, Adriana felt whole.
Father Jose called that salvation. He called it the light. He promised that if Adriana came to mass for seven Sundays, she would know it. That the sins she carried, that Luz's mouth on her face, and Luz's hands on her hips would be forgotten. That she would be clean of the way she cried out when Luz made her come.
Adriana wanted to live, and the price of sin was death.
Santa Isabel de Clemencia, or St. Isabel of Clemence, depending on whether mass was in English or Spanish that day, was at the corner of Stratford Avenue and 187th Street. It stood two stories high, with clean red brick sides, surrounded by a black fence. St. Isabel of Clemence, the church's patron saint, stood two-feet tall in marble next to the stained glass windows of the second floor. Within the walls of St. Isabel was a 30-feet space from floor to ceiling, lined by forty rows of polished pine pews. Running halfway around the second story were more pews, and lining the walls were the fourteen stations of the cross.
It was a modest space, missing the marble and gold that decorated the churches in Manhattan. But on third Sunday of February, its pews filled with people. Adriana sat at the back, taking in the people filling the church, watching as people filled the seats and lined the walls. She watched as Father Jose took his time changing, bathing in the seamless transition from conversations to silence as the first notes rang from the choir.
How easy it was then, to lose herself to the music in that room. How wonderful the power in the notes of the choir. How powerful Father Jose's own ability to quiet a room by simply appearing.
Adriana could feel it in her heart, the way her soul filled with light, with the rightness of the moment. She belonged here, and nothing would take this away from her. Nothing could hurt her here.
"Let us pray," Father Jose said.
The crowd shifted, the people surrounding Adriana held their hands out for her to take. She inhaled, let her head fall forward as she listened. This was the moment to ask for forgiveness, to offer Father Jose the burdens of her heart so that she might be free.
"Come forward," Father Jose called. "And let your sins be washed away today."
Adriana exhaled, her hands trembling as she let go of the people beside her. She closed her eyes against the thumping of her heart and the pulse in her throat. She felt Luz's hands on the side of her face and recoiled, fear of being found out greater than the calmness the church offered. She wanted to go to the front, to have Father Jose put his hands on her head and tell her he saw her sins and forgave them.
But she knew what he'd see, how if Luz had thought to give her a call, Adriana would be there and not here. How in order for her sins to be forgiven, she would have to repent, how she wasn't ready to say she was sorry. She'd be a liar, and Father Jose would know.
"Come forward," Father Jose called again.
Adriana had no choice, but to stay.
Confessions took place at the front of the altar at St. Isabel's, right beneath the crucified Christ, near the podium that held the day's readings. It was on Saturdays, at 5pm, the lights of the church dimmed low so that everyone had time with their sins. Sitting in the chair in front of Father Jose, Adriana could see the ten people sitting midway between her and the entrance of St. Isabel's, their heads bowed to give her some privacy. But she knew, if she said something too loud, they would hear.
She turned back to Father Jose, to his kind brown eyes and his solemn jaw. He wore white and green that day, his hair combed back and away from his face. When he spoke, his voice was loud and clear. It carried over the first twenty pews, so that Adriana knew, here she could share her sins with the church.
"Tell me, child," Father Jose said. "Why did come here today?"
"What we do isn't something you need God to forgive." Luz had said, earlier that day. "You can't just fuck me and go help three people cross the street, and think you're forgiven. Like you can clean yourself if you do enough little things."
Adriana let the silence run, let her eyes scan the crowd and settle on the woman in the back who kept looking at her watch. These were the people she'd chosen. This was the place she wanted to be.
"Is it wrong," she asked. "To do good, hoping that it will erase all the bad things you do?"
In July, on the third Sunday, sixth in the road to salvation, Adriana stood in front of St. Isabel's, her phone in her hand. If Luz called, Adriana would walk. But Luz never called, and the more Sundays that passed, the easier it got to forget the weight of Luz in Adriana's lap, the heat of her hands, the burn of her kisses.
One Sunday to salvation, with the sun hot on the back of Adriana's neck, she knelt on the floor in front of St. Isabel's, and cried.
So, Adriana Karina Lopez was born with the weight of King Solomon on her shoulders, and the hopes and dreams of her mother on her head. Which is to say, that from the moment Adriana first came into the world, she had quite a lot to live up to.
It followed then, that when Father Jose stood at the front of the altar to offer salvation, Adriana was going to say yes.
The first misa de sanacion was the third Sunday of January from 4:30pm to 7:00pm. It took place in St. Isabel of Clemence, towards the first ten pews of the church. Father Jose stood at the front of the altar, dressed all in white, for purity, for cleansing, for the forgiveness of the sins of his congregation. Father Jose was a force of nature, late forties with gray spread in streaks across his black hair. His mustache was always neatly trimmed, his brown eyes hard, and his loud booming voice always in favor of the lowest of his church.
"If your husband tells you to abandon your children or your parents, then it's time to dump your husband," he often said, unapologetic and unflinching.
Father Jose spoke of salvation with certainty and clarity. When he stood at the front of the altar, and the light of the candles hit him from the left and right, he seemed to loom over Adriana and the group of thirty that had come to the first Mass of Healing. His voice was strong, not loud, but it filled the room as though he were speaking to everyone directly.
"Believe me," Father Jose said. "If you come to this mass for seven months in a row, I can guarantee that you will never see the fires of hell."
The way Father Jose said it, determined and sure, it would have made anyone want it. His golden crown, the light that shone within him, that purity and certainty; it was salvation, and Adriana was going to do everything in her power to have it.
Luz, Adriana had long since learned, had cold hands. They sent goosebumps up her back, cold hands against Adriana's warm skin, her kisses hot and dangerous. All of Luz was dangerous, from her leather jacket to the reckless abandon with which she threw herself in Adriana's lap. Her black hair, thick as rope, her neck bare and inviting. Luz would be Adriana's undoing. Adriana knew it, deep in her gut, the way she knew her place at the family table.
"I want to live," Adriana told Luz. "I need to be saved."
"Listen to me," Luz said, her hands firm against the side of Adriana's face. "There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with me."
"I know there isn't anything wrong with you," Adriana said. "I know."
The "you" sat untested between them, Adriana's place undefined and unspoken. Adriana knew Luz wouldn't ask. It's why they worked so well together, because Luz never demanded more than Adriana was willing to give. Theirs was a relationship born of need and free of obligation. No promises made. No hearts broken.
"All right," Luz said, climbing off Adriana's lap. "I'll see you around."
She walked around the room, picking up her shirt and shoes, once by the mirror to check her makeup. Adriana watched her, watched the hypnotic sway of her hips, felt the imprint of Luz's teeth on her throat.
Stay, she wanted to say.
Ask, she thought as loud as she could.
But Luz never turned, and Adriana never called.
What it boiled down to was that Adriana wanted to live.
Luz's hands, her warm breath, the way all of Adriana responded in kind, the way her heart beat out of her chest and her hands trembled, all of it meant nothing if Adriana couldn't see the kingdom of heaven. She'd been born for it, her earliest memories bathed in the light of Santa Isabel's spires, the priests' sermons, the polished Jesus on his cross at the altar. The first memories Adriana had of her mother were of Lucia singing the church hymns. The quiet peacefulness embedded in those memories was the same Adriana felt at church. When the congregation held hands for the Our Father, something slotted into place and for a moment, Adriana felt whole.
Father Jose called that salvation. He called it the light. He promised that if Adriana came to mass for seven Sundays, she would know it. That the sins she carried, that Luz's mouth on her face, and Luz's hands on her hips would be forgotten. That she would be clean of the way she cried out when Luz made her come.
Adriana wanted to live, and the price of sin was death.
Santa Isabel de Clemencia, or St. Isabel of Clemence, depending on whether mass was in English or Spanish that day, was at the corner of Stratford Avenue and 187th Street. It stood two stories high, with clean red brick sides, surrounded by a black fence. St. Isabel of Clemence, the church's patron saint, stood two-feet tall in marble next to the stained glass windows of the second floor. Within the walls of St. Isabel was a 30-feet space from floor to ceiling, lined by forty rows of polished pine pews. Running halfway around the second story were more pews, and lining the walls were the fourteen stations of the cross.
It was a modest space, missing the marble and gold that decorated the churches in Manhattan. But on third Sunday of February, its pews filled with people. Adriana sat at the back, taking in the people filling the church, watching as people filled the seats and lined the walls. She watched as Father Jose took his time changing, bathing in the seamless transition from conversations to silence as the first notes rang from the choir.
How easy it was then, to lose herself to the music in that room. How wonderful the power in the notes of the choir. How powerful Father Jose's own ability to quiet a room by simply appearing.
Adriana could feel it in her heart, the way her soul filled with light, with the rightness of the moment. She belonged here, and nothing would take this away from her. Nothing could hurt her here.
"Let us pray," Father Jose said.
The crowd shifted, the people surrounding Adriana held their hands out for her to take. She inhaled, let her head fall forward as she listened. This was the moment to ask for forgiveness, to offer Father Jose the burdens of her heart so that she might be free.
"Come forward," Father Jose called. "And let your sins be washed away today."
Adriana exhaled, her hands trembling as she let go of the people beside her. She closed her eyes against the thumping of her heart and the pulse in her throat. She felt Luz's hands on the side of her face and recoiled, fear of being found out greater than the calmness the church offered. She wanted to go to the front, to have Father Jose put his hands on her head and tell her he saw her sins and forgave them.
But she knew what he'd see, how if Luz had thought to give her a call, Adriana would be there and not here. How in order for her sins to be forgiven, she would have to repent, how she wasn't ready to say she was sorry. She'd be a liar, and Father Jose would know.
"Come forward," Father Jose called again.
Adriana had no choice, but to stay.
Confessions took place at the front of the altar at St. Isabel's, right beneath the crucified Christ, near the podium that held the day's readings. It was on Saturdays, at 5pm, the lights of the church dimmed low so that everyone had time with their sins. Sitting in the chair in front of Father Jose, Adriana could see the ten people sitting midway between her and the entrance of St. Isabel's, their heads bowed to give her some privacy. But she knew, if she said something too loud, they would hear.
She turned back to Father Jose, to his kind brown eyes and his solemn jaw. He wore white and green that day, his hair combed back and away from his face. When he spoke, his voice was loud and clear. It carried over the first twenty pews, so that Adriana knew, here she could share her sins with the church.
"Tell me, child," Father Jose said. "Why did come here today?"
"What we do isn't something you need God to forgive." Luz had said, earlier that day. "You can't just fuck me and go help three people cross the street, and think you're forgiven. Like you can clean yourself if you do enough little things."
Adriana let the silence run, let her eyes scan the crowd and settle on the woman in the back who kept looking at her watch. These were the people she'd chosen. This was the place she wanted to be.
"Is it wrong," she asked. "To do good, hoping that it will erase all the bad things you do?"
In July, on the third Sunday, sixth in the road to salvation, Adriana stood in front of St. Isabel's, her phone in her hand. If Luz called, Adriana would walk. But Luz never called, and the more Sundays that passed, the easier it got to forget the weight of Luz in Adriana's lap, the heat of her hands, the burn of her kisses.
One Sunday to salvation, with the sun hot on the back of Adriana's neck, she knelt on the floor in front of St. Isabel's, and cried.
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Great job with this.
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But. I got a workload dumped on me at work and ran out of time and had to settle for an outline hinting at what I had originally planned.
Thanks for your comment and again, I'd appreciate any feedback.
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More tragic, since Luz means light. Does Jose notice that the light has left Adriana's heart? Priests do not always see all.
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I feel for your poor protagonist here. It's hard to shake off the religious ties and accept that perhaps God is not as we have been taught.
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Thank you for reading :D
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If Adriana has a touch of Solomon's wisdom, she will find Luz and reconnect. Thank you for inking!🎀🐭🐁❄⛄✌
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It's such an impossible bind for someone in Adriana's position. She will either have to give up the Church's version of salvation, or she will have to give up herself.
In time, we can hope she'll find that what she is being taught is not the only path.
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Thanks for reading ♡
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Great piece!
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Thank you for reading!