Katie’s First Confession

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession. These are my sins for which I’m very sorry.” I don’t bow my head like Sister Mary John told us. Instead, I stare through the black curtain separating the priest from me and try to see his face, but it’s as dark as the bottom of a barrel in the confessional box, and I can’t see a thing. Father smells like a wet dog, but I take a deep breath and start to recite the list of sins I’ve memorized.
“I yell at my sister. I chase the chickens around the manure pile, and they get scared and won’t lay eggs and we don’t have anything to eat with our bacon. I hide Granny’s teeth in the sugar bowl. I chew black licorice until my jaws hurt. I hide in the room above the kitchen and listen through the stovepipe to the grownups talk instead of minding my own business. I pretend I’m dusting the floor when I’m really listening to the Top 40 hits on the radio.” Father coughs.
“Are you finished, child?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“When will you know?”
“How much time do I have?”
“As long as it takes, but not all day,” he says. I decide to tell him everything and get it over with.
“This morning I let the dog lick the bacon grease from my plate and I put it back in the cupboard without washing it. When I get a new box of crayons, I break every one and tell Mama that’s the way they came from the store. Last summer, I broke the man who grew green hair, but I didn’t do it on purpose. I think God is mean. A few weeks ago I put a spider in….”
“Child, why do you think God is mean?” Father interrupts. I can’t believe he’s asking me a question. This wasn’t in the rehearsal when Sister Mary John played Father Gray. I wonder if I should tell him the truth or just lie.
“Well?” he asks while I’m thinking.
“Well, what?” I ask. Maybe I can mix him up, and he’ll forget what I said. I don’t think we’re supposed to visit with the priest. We’re supposed to tell him our sins, and he’s supposed to forgive us and give us penance and then we’re free to go.
“Why do you think God is mean?” he asks again. He’s like a dog with a bone. I wish I had kept my mouth shut like Papa’s always telling me. Now I have to answer.
“Well, God says if a person don’t go to church on Sunday on purpose it’s a mortal sin, and if he dies, he goes to hell. Granny never goes to church. Where will she go when she dies?”
“Who is your Granny?”
“Granny Clark.”
“Send her to see me.”
“She’s old and don’t go nowhere except to the barn.”
“Then I’ll visit her.”
“Do you know where we live?”
“Are you the Clarks on the road with the big hill that ices up in winter?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Don’t tell anyone you told me who you are or where you live. I’m not supposed to know, but I think, just this once, God will forgive us. I’ll visit Granny soon.” I can’t believe the priest is making me promise to keep a secret. Mama says secrets are for old people.
“Do you promise?” Father asks again.
“I guess so,” I say. I sure don’t want to, but I’m afraid I’ll go to hell if I disobey a priest ’cause he’s like God on earth, and everyone knows you can’t disobey God.
“Good. Now I think you’ve said enough. Your sins are forgiven. For your
penance say two Hail Marys and one Our Father. Go in peace.”
“But I ain’t done yet. I’ve lots more sins to tell.”
“You can tell them later. Go, now, and send in the next kid.”
“I’ll say my penance, but I don’t think it’s enough.”
“Be on your way.”
“I thought I was supposed to say the Act of Contrition. How’re you gonna forgive my sins if you don’t know I’m really sorry for them?”
“Okay, okay, as you wish, child. As you wish.”
I bow my head and say the prayer very slowly and clearly, like I really mean it. By the time I’m through, I can hear Father fidgeting in his seat.
“Go now,” he says. “Return in two weeks.”
“It stinks in here, Father,” I say.
“You can confess your rudeness in two weeks. Now, go.”
I tell him goodbye but I don’t thank him for forgiving my sins. I’m mad. Before I went into the box, I was scared I might say something stupid, but now I’m just mad. For three weeks the nuns have been pounding into our heads how important confession is and how good we’ll feel once we confess our sins. They said we’d feel clean and pure. That must have been a lie like a lot of the other stuff they told us. With the penance Father gave me, I shouldn’t have confessed anything ’cause I felt better before I went in. Now I just feel stupid—telling him all my sins and getting such a puny penance.
I cross myself the way Catholics do, push aside the heavy velvet curtain and leave. I make a face and a “thumbs down” sign to Blew as he passes me. Sister Mary John is standing next to him like a soldier guarding a prisoner so I can’t say anything, but I pinch my nose to let him know what he’s in for. The nun shakes her finger at me and gives me a dirty look. I give her one right back.
I take an empty pew and kneel and say my penance. I say an extra Hail Mary for Granny, but I don’t know if it will do any good. I feel in my skirt pocket for money, but all I find are two pennies. That ain’t enough to light a candle to help save Granny from hell. Candles cost a dime each. I look behind me. Sister Mary John’s holding that trouble maker, Larry Lawrence, by his collar, so the coast is clear. I march to the front of the church where the candles are and take a match from its holder. Then I touch the red tip to the flame of a burning candle and light two more. I know it’s a sin, but I don’t care. When I get my allowance, I’ll give God another two cents until I’ve paid off what I owe Him. I kneel and pray that Granny don’t go to hell.
When I’m done praying, I get up and walk back down the aisle. Then I open the door and the July sunshine hits my face like a splash of warm water. Blew’s granny, my Aunt Rene, is sitting on a bench, waiting for me, inspecting a run in her nylon. Her housedress is flapping in the breeze and a pink bandana’s holding her red wig in place so the wind don’t blow it off her head. She’s wearing a pair of sunglasses over her regular glasses. Her lips are painted bright pink, and her cheeks are rosy from all her rouge. A cigarette hangs from her mouth, and she’s blowing smoke rings that blow away faster than she can make them. She’s cleaning her left ear with her little fingernail that’s an inch long. She grins and waves when she sees me. She walks over to the car, reaches in the open window, and pulls out a wrinkled paper bag full of black licorice sticks.
“Well, Katie, how’d it go?” she booms and offers me the candy.
“Okay, but the box stunk. And Father didn’t give me much penance.” I sit next to her, take two ropes of licorice, and twirl them in my hand. Then I bite into one and let the black syrup fill my mouth.
“What’d you get?”
“Two Hail Marys and one Our Father.”
“Hum, seems about right for your age. You’ll get more penance as you get older. How’s Blew doing?” Her voice is so loud Blew probably hears it from the box. She thinks everybody’s deaf ’cause Uncle Johnny blew out his eardrums when he worked on the line in a noisy Detroit car factory and now he’s deaf as a post. He can’t hear her unless she yells at the top of her lungs. “I made him practice all last night until he got the hang of confessing” she says. “But you know how he is. More likely than not he’ll make up a whole new set of sins, instead of sticking to the ones we rehearsed. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with that boy.”
She throws back her head and laughs. She loves Blew more than anybody in the world. He’s her Bastard grandchild. His mama left him when he was an infant, and Uncle Johnny says Blew took right after his Bastard father who blew into town one day and blew out the next just as fast. Blew don’t know where he is or who he is, but I figure the Bastards are important people, ’cause according to Mama, there ain’t many of ’em in our town.
“He’s in the box right now,” I tell her. “If he can stand the smell, he’ll be okay.” We lean back on the bench and don’t say anything, but the quiet’s nice. Aunt Rene nods at the ladies walking by on the sidewalk and they nod back, but they don’t stop and visit. Aunt Rene don’t have many friends ’cause she’s too loud and flashy, but I feel real important sitting next to her, chewing my licorice and enjoying the sunshine. I smile at the snotty women as black juice trickles down my chin.
It’s a nice Saturday. We finished our last catechism lesson right before making our First Confession. Usually Father hears peoples’ sins late Saturday afternoon, but he took us early. That means we have to stay pure and not sin before communion tomorrow. The only way I’ll manage is to tape my mouth shut. I don’t like to sin. It just comes natural, at least that’s what Sister Mary John told me. She’s only been here three weeks, but she told me lots of things about myself, things I never knew before. She says I’m bull-headed and rude and bossy, and if I don’t change my ways I’ll end up in hell. She probably talked to the nuns who came last summer, and they gave her the scoop on me, but I don’t think I’m as bad as they say. We have catechism classes all year, but Mrs. Mally from St. Ignace teaches us during the school year. The nuns from Detroit come in June to check up on her. I don’t think they trust Mrs. Mally, but I do. She ain’t as smart as the nuns, but she ain’t as mean, either.
Just then Blew throws open the church doors. “I did it!” he yells. “I passed. I remembered all my sins and made up a few new ones. Gimme some candy.” In three jumps he’s next to us, clawing through the bag. Aunt Rene hugs him as hard as she did me, then she includes me in the hug. Blew squirms away with five sticks in his hand. He shoves them all in his mouth, and they hang like fangs. He looks ridiculous. When I’m a dentist, I’m going to make a pair of front teeth for Blew. He lost his permanent ones in January when he was ice skating on the river down the road from us. He tripped on rough ice and fell on his face. His new teeth had just finished coming in and looked real nice. When I saw the ice turning red, I knew he was in trouble. He didn’t get a spanking, though, and he didn’t get put in the shed. Aunt Rene hugged him until he begged for breath. Then she made him rinse his mouth with salt water. Then she fed him chocolate ice cream. I cried but Blew didn’t. He said front teeth were highly overrated and now he was a man just like my Papa and one day, when he was older, he’d buy some false ones.
“You’re the two smartest kids in the county,” Aunt Rene roars. “Ain’t I the lucky one to know you?” She thumps Blew’s back until he coughs, and one piece of licorice flies to the ground. He picks it up and sticks it back in his mouth. “Let’s go home,” Aunt Rene says. I slide in next to her. Blew slides next to me. Aunt Rene slows the car at the bridge just long enough to let two little kids on bicycles cross in front of us, then she honks the horn, and the kids jump like they don’t know if we’re going to run over them or push them off the bridge into the river. We laugh. Down the road we fly, making so much dust we cough and sneeze and leave a dusty tunnel behind us.
When the county made the road, Papa says they must have followed the cow’s path ’cause the road twists and turns like a worm on fire. We take one turn and then another. There’s nothing to hang on to, so I put my right hand on Blew’s skinny shoulder and hold my new white prayer book and rosary with the other. When we reach our road, Aunt Rene takes the corner on two wheels. She blows the horn as we pass Cousin Lula’s house. I pray her dog’s asleep in his shack. If he hears us coming, he’ll chase us for sure. He might get run over, and today’s too nice a day to die. Good luck! Bingo’s nowhere in sight. One more turn and I’m almost home.
“There you are,” Aunt Rene yells as she turns in my lane. “Home safe and sound. Ask if you can come over for lunch. We’re having hotdogs.” Blew won’t move so I crawl over him. He pinches my arm, and I pinch back. He smiles his black licorice grin.
“See you later,” he says. “And gimme back my Roy Rogers canteen.” He waves as Aunt Rene backs out and heads for their house across the road. She toots the horn three times and then they’re gone in another cloud of dust. I watch the car as it bumps from one rut to another, watch until it disappears around the curve leading to their house. Then I start the long walk down the lane that leads to my house. As I walk a heavy feeling settles on me covering me all over, kind of like how road dust settles on everything. I’m thinking about what Father made me promise, and I’m worried that I have to keep a secret. Mama always says secrets are not for kids, so I don’t know whether I should tell her I talked about Granny to the priest or just forget about it like Blew would. If I tell Mama, it might upset her ’cause then she might think if I talked about Granny, I probably talked about her, too, and she might worry I told him something I shouldn’t have.
“Did you make a good confession?” Granny’s voice startles me and I jump. She hobbles towards me, leaning her gnarled hands on her cane. She was picking cattails growing alongside the ditch ’cause she’s clutching a bunch of them next to her heart. I wish she wouldn’t walk so far from the house. She’s old and crippled and might fall and get hurt or run over by a fast car.
“You scared me, Granny,” I say. “I think I did okay, but Father interrupted me before I could tell all my sins. And it stunk in the box. Do you want me to carry the cattails?” She hands them to me. “I’ll put them in water when we get to the house, but you know Mama will get mad if they burst and fly all over the kitchen.” We hobble along in silence for a few minutes. I hear robins calling to each other, and sparrows singing as they swoop through the air. Great big white clouds fill the blue sky, and everything is peaceful. I love living in the country and how the earth smells after a rain and how the leaves turn colors in the fall. I love planting seeds in my little garden and watching the tiny sprouts turn into strong stalks of corn or beans or peas or cabbages. Lard runs to meet us, yapping, and wagging his tail.
“Get down, boy,” I tell him. He must have been swimming in the river ’cause his paws and hair are wet and filthy. “Get down or you’ll ruin my good clothes.” Then I pluck up my courage and ask Granny a question that maybe I shouldn’t ask but I have to know the answer or I’ll always be afraid.
“Will you go to hell when you die?” I ask. “You don’t go to church or confession and you never wash. Do you think God will let you into heaven?” She stops walking and laughs. Then she calls me by the pet name she gave me a long time ago, although I don’t know what it means, and I don’t even like it.
“Let me tell you, Shooter,” she says. “When your grandpappy was leavin’ this earth I told him to save me a place. He always did as I said. I do believe there’s a nice sunny spot just waitin’ for me in heaven whether God likes it or not.”
“Is grandpappy more important than God?” I ask. I can’t believe my ears.
“I think they’re about even,” Granny says and leans both gnarled hands on her cane. Her hair’s in a knot on top of her head. Her eyes have that watery look like she’s going to cry, but she don’t. She pulls her black shawl tighter around her shoulders. Granny’s small—almost as small as I am, but people say I’m tall for my age so maybe she ain’t as small as I think. I ain’t never seen her stand up straight. Before I can ask anything else, I hear Mama calling from the kitchen. I better go ahead.
“See you later,” I tell Granny. I run to the house.
“How was confession,” Mama asks. I still haven’t made up my mind whether or not to tell her the priest said he’ll visit Granny, so I tell her it was fine.
“Did you confess all your sins?”
“I guess so, but Father told me to save some for next time.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” she says. I think she’s afraid of the priest, too, so she always agrees with him. There’s a laundry basket full of clothes that need ironing, but Mama’s sitting at the table instead of doing her chores. I can smell the hot iron as it stands on the board waiting to do its job, but Mama seems miles away. I watch as she stirs sugar into her tea. There’s an open bottle of Papa’s whiskey by her cup and a little jigger next to it.
Sometimes Mama does what she tells Papa not to do. She pours a jigger of whiskey into her cup. She’s always telling Papa not to drink too much, but lately she ain’t been as cheerful as she usually is. I don’t know why. She looks through me like I ain’t even here. I take a Mason jar from the cupboard, fill it with water from the pail by the washstand, and stick the cattails in it. They look pretty, standing straight as soldiers. I put the jar in the middle of the table.
“Can I go over to Blew’s for an hour?” I ask. “I’ll do my chores when I get home. Can I go, please?” Mama looks tired, and I’m beginning to feel a little guilty about the empty woodbox, but at the same time, I want to get away from the kitchen and the sad feeling coming over me. “Do you like the cattails?” I ask.
Mama snaps out of her stupor which is what she calls the moods that come over her. She feels the cattails. “They’re hard,” she says. “You can keep them for a little while. Now, change your clothes and have something to eat. And don’t forget to fill the woodbox.” She sips more tea.
“But can I do that later? Aunt Rene invited me for hotdogs.”
“Oh, I don’t care,” she says like she’s given up, kind of like a balloon that’s lost all its air and just floats to the ground. “Be back in half-an-hour.” I run upstairs and change into my old clothes—a plaid shirt and red shorts that used to be my sister’s. MayBeth’s clothes are too big for me, but I pin the shorts closed. I race down the stairs and in a minute I’m gone. I make sure the screen door don’t slam behind me ’cause that makes Mama mad, then I run for my bicycle. It’s leaning against the maple tree, right where I left it last night. Mama always tells me to put it in the red shed in case it rains, but sometimes I forget.
I pedal down the lane as fast as I can and create dust just like Aunt Rene. I cross the road and head down the long lane leading to Blew’s house. The wind feels cool and clean on my face. The pine trees reach overhead. I’m in a tunnel of green and millions of dead pine needles. In a few more minutes, I’ll be in Blew’s world. I pedal faster and faster. If I hit a big piece of gravel I’ll probably kill myself, but luck is with me. One final spurt of wild pedaling and I’m at the prettiest house on the sideroad—all white and green with yellow trim going up its sides like big slices of lemon.
Utah runs from his shack, barking a loud welcome. I jump from my bike and throw it against an old apple tree that’s ready to fall down. Aunt Rene’s in the garden and hollers a greeting. “I hope you’re hungry,” she says. “I’ll have the fire going in a few minutes, just as soon as I finish weeding the carrots.” Utah licks me all over and almost knocks me down.
Blew’s on the barn roof with Uncle Johnny, patching holes. They’re up so high, it looks like they can almost touch the angels. Blew sees me and waves. He looks like God, smiling me into heaven. The sun’s shining on his hair and it’s all messed up like it’s supposed to be. He’s changed into his old clothes, too, and his bony knees stick through the holes where the material wore out. His shirt sleeves are rolled up almost to his shoulders. I run to the ladder, eager to join him. When I’m almost at the top, I look down and get a little scared, but then I feel Blew’s hand reaching for mine and I know I’m safe. We work for awhile. All I do is hand Blew nails and he hands them to Uncle Johnny. Then we climb down the ladder. Uncle Johnny goes into the barn. Blew and I sit underneath the branches of a tall pine tree.