Page 50 - Contrast2008

Not that it matters, but it's not like this I was planning on going to Communion like
bullshit was reserved for Sundays. I'm remem- this. My mother and I both knew I was unfit
bering a certain Sunday in 1979, yes. (I even re- for the Lord's Table, but I had no choice. She
member, at Mass later that morning, the priest said she would be ashamed if I stayed back.
ceremoniously calling that particular Sunday That way, everyone would know her son's soul
The Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time-that's
what The Catholics call a Sunday if it's not was not pure for The Body of Christ.
Lent, or Advent, or any special season-, it's a There was a quiz in Sunday School.
Sunday in "ordinary time"). And if I told you I remember being thirsty. A thirst that
that there was anything out of the ordinary
about that beating, I'd be lying. made my mouth sore and my head ache. I
remember the harsh, humming light in our
It was over cuff links. One cuff link, to be classroom. I wouldn't move, though. Isat still.
I thought about the quiz, on the Ten Com-
exact. mandments. I knew them. Icould write those.
I stood, late and sweaty, in the spotless
I would.
kitchen behind my mother, with my one silver It would have taken me the whole Sun-
square link buried in my palm. She was shak-
ing slightly, and sniffiing. day School class to work up the nerve to s~y

No little boy wants to make his mother anything to my teacher, Mrs. jarol. I was afrald
cry. I didn't want to. And I knew better than
making her late. So I hated myself. of women, but it's weird, because I didn't even

"Mom ...m ...1 lost my cuff..." I whis- think about being afraid, or why I was afraid,
wou ldn't l·ke
pered. when I was nine. I knew women
I remember the hot flowery dishwater 1

she flung off her hands onto my cheeks. She me, especially not if they were pretty, and defi-
squeezed my wrist until my fingers turned
blue. My hand opened in a spasm, and the sil- nitely not if they found out how I reallywas-
ver piece bounced with a cracking sound on
the green tile. and what my mom knew. 1

"Pick it UP!" she screamed, stepping be- I knew a lot of stuff about Mrs. Jaro,
hind me. "And THIS ..." she whispered, slap- though. I wished I caul d say sornethirng to her.
ping at the wrinkled shoulders of my pinstriped
shirt. I paid a lot of attention to her-the way she

Of course, when I reached for the cuff smelled (I don't know what she wo~e-somed
link, she knocked me down on the floor. My
chin hit with a gritty smack, and I bit the back thing light, and neutral, like vamlla ..~ane)
of my tongue, tasting warm, sour blood.
lotion, or powder maybe, but not per ~
"Wasn't I something-a son a mother
could be proud of?" she yelled as I bolted for and her clothes-I liked her plaid skirts t alat
the front yard. I had reallyset her off. She said swished, and almost waved behm. d her. Sh1eh -
she couldn't believe how I could pick my sorry acubri.vge, dgoilndtopm.t h eatshhaepre coa fllaar. at
ass up. off her kitchen floor, jump in her car, ways wore dove,
~nd ~hde on in a pew beside her-just like I day, it was

adn t been torturing my mother! She asked if with a pearl at the crest of its wings. 1· d
I bent my head over my thiin blue med-
h d h D Cornman
paper and punc. e dout It e edn. Thou shalt
ments. I was fimshe .ear y. Un er:

not covet. word ...not trh a
I screamed,
not the wt

sound, but into the paper, I screamed:

fuck 11 bl ck Pbernicckl·..1 I
There it was. Like a sme Y a
It had been in my han d, my