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static_abyss) wrote2022-06-26 06:33 pm
static_abyss) wrote2022-06-26 06:33 pm
LJ Idol 2022: Week 11
The church is silent save for the kneeling people at the front, that quiet murmuring from the mouths of the faithful. Belinda can hear the clicking of Tia Cata's heel against the linoleum as they make their way down the left side of the benches. There, on the side away from the crucifixes and the saints, Belinda can see into the vestibule at the front, the dark tiles and the clean counters that hold the communion wine. The priest will be in the back towards the left, in that little hallway that connects the vestibule to the room that holds the saints that only come out near Christmas.
Belinda follows quietly, her eyes on the floor, feeling like everyone can see her even though she knows everyone has more important things to do than watch her in her oversized shirts. She's quiet all the way to the front, silent as Tia Cata dips her fingers in holy water and does the sign of the cross. She nudges Belinda with her shoe and she looks up briefly to see Tia Cata looking at the small stoup hanging on the wall.
The holy water is clear and Belinda can see all the way to the smooth bottom of the tan stone. There are black spots in the cracks that run along the sides and a faint green cover at the very bottom. The water is cold when Belinda dips his fingers in and as she crosses himself, she wonders whether her mother and father were church-goers, whether Tia Cata ever came to church when Belinda was too young to accompany her. She wonders if Tia Cata means it when she says she prays for Belinda and her parents.
"Get in there," Tia Cata says, now, motioning to the vestibule, her eyes darting around the church.
No one is watching them. This place is one of silent worship, where eyes don't meet as sinners kneel on cushioned pews. Belinda inhales once and makes her way into the small room. She knows without being told that she's meant to go deeper into the small hallway, away from prying eyes. There's a chair waiting for her across from the priest and Belinda takes a seat, her eyes on the floor.
She knows why she's there but she can't imagine what she's meant to say. Tia Cata, for all her talk of faith, has never taught Belinda how to confess her sins.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," the priest says.
His voice is warm and kind, the sort of gentle thing that reminds Belinda of wise old men with long beards. He's soft-spoken, everything from his white robe to his sympathetic brown eyes lets Belinda know that she's welcomed there. When their eyes meet, it's as though someone's finally seeing Belinda, all of her, down to the last unwanted pieces.
"Tell me why you're here," the priests says.
Belinda hears Tia Cata's voice in her head, the clipped tones as Tia Cata had listed all the ways Belinda had been dooming herself by holding Juana's hand after school. What stands out most of all is that Tia Cata hadn't been angry. She'd been afraid, a terror in her eyes that had let Belinda know that something was really wrong. She'd done something frightening with Juana, terrible to have done it in public, terrible to have wanted it.
She doesn't know how she's meant to explain to this kind man what she's done.
"Just tell him," Tia Cata had said. "I've already signed you up for the classes, but they want you in confession before you can go."
She'd meant communion classes so that Belinda could one day join the kneeling sinners and ask for absolution.
"I don't know how to start," Belinda says, feeling heat crawl up the back of her neck.
She feels foolish and stupid sitting under the watchful gaze of this priest.
"It's okay, Belinda," the priest says.
Later, Belinda will think it through and know that Tia Cata must have warned the priest that Belinda was coming. But at that moment, as she looks upon the face of her salvation, the fact that this priest knows her name means that this is where Belinda's meant to be.
Belinda follows quietly, her eyes on the floor, feeling like everyone can see her even though she knows everyone has more important things to do than watch her in her oversized shirts. She's quiet all the way to the front, silent as Tia Cata dips her fingers in holy water and does the sign of the cross. She nudges Belinda with her shoe and she looks up briefly to see Tia Cata looking at the small stoup hanging on the wall.
The holy water is clear and Belinda can see all the way to the smooth bottom of the tan stone. There are black spots in the cracks that run along the sides and a faint green cover at the very bottom. The water is cold when Belinda dips his fingers in and as she crosses himself, she wonders whether her mother and father were church-goers, whether Tia Cata ever came to church when Belinda was too young to accompany her. She wonders if Tia Cata means it when she says she prays for Belinda and her parents.
"Get in there," Tia Cata says, now, motioning to the vestibule, her eyes darting around the church.
No one is watching them. This place is one of silent worship, where eyes don't meet as sinners kneel on cushioned pews. Belinda inhales once and makes her way into the small room. She knows without being told that she's meant to go deeper into the small hallway, away from prying eyes. There's a chair waiting for her across from the priest and Belinda takes a seat, her eyes on the floor.
She knows why she's there but she can't imagine what she's meant to say. Tia Cata, for all her talk of faith, has never taught Belinda how to confess her sins.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," the priest says.
His voice is warm and kind, the sort of gentle thing that reminds Belinda of wise old men with long beards. He's soft-spoken, everything from his white robe to his sympathetic brown eyes lets Belinda know that she's welcomed there. When their eyes meet, it's as though someone's finally seeing Belinda, all of her, down to the last unwanted pieces.
"Tell me why you're here," the priests says.
Belinda hears Tia Cata's voice in her head, the clipped tones as Tia Cata had listed all the ways Belinda had been dooming herself by holding Juana's hand after school. What stands out most of all is that Tia Cata hadn't been angry. She'd been afraid, a terror in her eyes that had let Belinda know that something was really wrong. She'd done something frightening with Juana, terrible to have done it in public, terrible to have wanted it.
She doesn't know how she's meant to explain to this kind man what she's done.
"Just tell him," Tia Cata had said. "I've already signed you up for the classes, but they want you in confession before you can go."
She'd meant communion classes so that Belinda could one day join the kneeling sinners and ask for absolution.
"I don't know how to start," Belinda says, feeling heat crawl up the back of her neck.
She feels foolish and stupid sitting under the watchful gaze of this priest.
"It's okay, Belinda," the priest says.
Later, Belinda will think it through and know that Tia Cata must have warned the priest that Belinda was coming. But at that moment, as she looks upon the face of her salvation, the fact that this priest knows her name means that this is where Belinda's meant to be.
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- Erulisse (one L)
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- Erulisse (one L)
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It's so sad that love (to her friend) makes her Tia afraid. I think we do pass fear to our kids if we don't explain the connection. Maybe (hopefully?) Tia is only afraid of how others might treat Belinda?
Hard to tell. You explained well the confusion when a kid is "gifted" with shame. It can happen so fast, but take so many years to overcome!
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I was lucky that my mom ran into the right people and that she was never 100% into the Catholic Church. But even so, she has asked me to not tell my aunts that I'm queer. She phrases it as for my well being but we both know it's so she can avoid the incoming fights. Because I will 100% throw hands and as my mother, she will feel the need to help me lol
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I have a question just because of my own ignorance of the Catholic church. I thought classes for first communion happened when children were 7. Is Belinda late because she lived with her aunt? I wouldn't think her aunt would be upset about little girls holding hands, but maybe that's the point. There's no reason to be upset over anyone holding hands.
This was beautifully written and thought provoking. Thank you!
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Also, I have an aunt who refuses to let her grandaughter hold other little girls' hands because she doesn't went her to grow up queer, so you can imagine how that energy can mess a child up. You can also imagine that we have the more interesting family gatherings.
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