My parents had met at a Christian Fitness Singles bicycle trip. John and Agnes Black were both in their forties, loved the outdoors, camping, and hiking. They’d spent decades toiling in corporate America and had reached the point where they wanted to find a spouse to share a life of love, laughter, similar interests, and family. Both were open-minded Christians. John Black converted from Episcopalian to Catholicism to make Agnes happy.

Church was a significant part of my parents’ lives and it became a big part of mine. Proper Catholic baptism. Catechism classes. Catholic school. I hated it at first. So much memorization. Procedure. Prayer. Chant. Stand. Kneel. Sit. Make the sign of the cross. What Saints Day was it again? Mass. Always mass. I was either coming from church or going back to it. Eventually I found solace in the ritual, the prayers, the chanting, the liturgy. It was a meditation of sorts, calming the chatter in my mind, soothing my nightmares.

I was a junior at Blessed Name high school when Sydney moved out of the house and went to Smith College a few hours away. My parents were in their sixties and began indulging themselves, taking weekend trips with friends to places they’d researched on ancestry and historical sites. I was old enough and ‘responsible enough’ to stay by myself and hold down the fort.

Life was good. I was a starter on the basketball team. I was getting mostly B’s. Bonus, my hormones had kicked in fifteen months prior. My voice dropped. I grew six inches taller practically overnight, developed scruff on my face and muscles that miraculously had definition when I flexed my arms in front of a mirror. I started attracting female attention and when the shock of that calmed down, I found myself with a steady girlfriend.

Mary Margaret Murphy was a senior, a straight-A student in the Honor Society, and a cheerleader. Bonus: her favorite new after school activity was sex. She was a driven girl and decided she wanted to be really good at sex by the time she went to college. She studied positions on the Internet and scored a used paperback copy of the Karma Sutra at a local yoga studio.

She tutored me on giving clitoral orgasms and how to find G-spots, while I gave her feedback on blow jobs and how it felt when she circled her tongue around my dick before she took me deep in her mouth to finish me off. We were perfect together.

Young.

Mutually attracted.

Shared no illusions about plans for a romantic future. Here and now was all that mattered.

One rainy Saturday afternoon I held down the fort otherwise known as a completely naked, sweaty, and enthusiastic Mary Margaret Murphy on my double-sized mattress, her knees spread, my head buried deep in the v between her legs.

“For God’s sakes, Aiden Black! What are you doing with your tongue? A walk-about through the neighborhood? You’re not even close to my clit.”

I lifted my head and swiped the back of my hand across my mouth. “Then you need to give better directions, Smarty Pants.”

She laughed. “That’s Ms. Valedictorian Smarty Pants to you.”

“Oh my God, I’m fucking a smart girl. Will it rub off on me?”

“I pray it does, Aiden. I pray it goes directly from my pussy to your big dick.”

“Ha!” I said, and we were back at it.

My parents’ weekend getaways turned into my own house of sin. But somewhere between the mutual blow jobs, Karma Sutra position numbers seventeen, fifty-two, and sixty-nine I felt twinges of Catholic guilt. I decided to go to confession to be absolved of my pre-marital sexual sins and picked a low traffic time. Late Saturday afternoon. During a Patriot’s game.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

“That’s a good start,” the priest said.

I knew from his voice that I was confessing to Father Ed McKenna. The middle-aged parish priest who was cool and popular with the high school kids because he was non-judgmental and easy to talk with. And yet, I still had a tough time composing my words. Twenty uncomfortable seconds of silence passed.

He cleared his throat. “Do you need prompting?”

“I’ve got this. Father, it’s been a month since my last confession. My sins are I didn’t study hard enough for the World History Test and got a B minus.”

“What else?”

“I used the Lord’s name in vain on multiple occasions during the last basketball game.”

“Tell me more.”

“I’ve been having sex with my girlfriend, a lot, which I think is frowned upon. I don’t know if the oral sex is as mortal a sin as full penetration. Perhaps missionary position is considered more venial than taking her from behind when she’s on her knees. I’ve researched online but haven’t found a lot about where the line falls in terms of how sinful I have been. That’s all I remember, Father.”

“Aha. Let’s deal with the mortal versus the venial later. Did you use protection?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Are you prepared to be a parent if she gets pregnant?”

“Um, yes, Father.”

Er, no, I was not.

My sins were multiplying. Sex before marriage was a sin. Lying was a sin. And lying during confession most likely made this a triple sin. This couldn’t be good. I hoped God wasn’t in a ‘smite’ kind of mood.

“Have you both been tested for STDs?” Father McKenna asked.

“Jeez, what happened to young love?”

He stifled a laugh. “Young love in the real world often has ramifications. It’s a little different in the Catholic Church. Penance is five Hail Mary’s for the lack of sufficient studying and the profanity. Regarding the other—go to your local clinic and ask them to run an STD panel.”

“Lord Jesus, have mercy on me a sinner,” I said and crossed myself in the dim light of the confessional “Thanks, Father.”

“Report back when you get your results. Any chance you and your girlfriend, what’s her name again?”

“Mary Margaret Murphy. Oh, crap. She might not want me telling you that.”

“No worries, son. I won’t share. The sanctity of the confessional. Any chance you and Mary Margaret can go back to regular heavy petting? Abstain on the marital sacrament?”

“The horse has left the barn, Father,”

“Got it. Good luck with the tests. Get back to me with your results, yes?”

“Will do, Father.”

I might have been getting B’s in high school, but I got a perfect scorecard on my STD panel. Clean as a whistle. I reported back to confession and told Father McKenna the good news. A month later I was promoted to the starting line up in Varsity Basketball, and was getting laid at least twenty times a week. Life was fucking good.

That’s why it threw me the day I was called to the principal’s office. I hadn’t paid the principal a visit since freshman year, and as I paced the corridors I racked my brain trying to figure out what I’d done to merit this action. I pushed the door open, announced myself to the secretary, and was admitted to her private office.

Sydney was slumped in the chair in front of the desk, her eyes red and her eyelids swollen.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Did you get an unexpected break from school?”

She stood up, unable to articulate, a sob bursting from her twisted lips.

I moved the few feet toward her, took her hand, and squeezed it. “Syd?”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” the headmistress said. She crossed herself and left the room.

“There’s been an accident,” Sydney said, gripping my hand.

“What accident? What happened?”

“The tour bus Mom and Dad were on was in a crash. The truck driver had a heart attack, lost control of the semi, hit two cars, then plowed into the bus on a stretch of highway in Pennsylvania.”

“Fuck,” I said. “They’re in a hospital in Pennsylvania? You drove here, right? We’ve gotta go. Now.” I was already halfway out the door.

“Not the hospital, Aiden. The cops told me that they think it was instantaneous. They didn’t make it. It’s just you and me now.” She broke out sobbing again.

Ice water stabbed into my heart and squirted through my veins. I pulled her to me and held her tight. I hugged her because she was my sister, because I loved her, and because the Earth no longer felt like safe ground to walk upon. Once again, I would have to tread lightly.

I went numb.

Didn’t know what to feel.

Couldn’t feel.

I didn’t see this coming.

I wasn’t prepared.

A turn of the wheel.

The luck of the draw.

Family was given.

Family was taken away.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned.