The Saint

“Look,” she said, once more addressing the nobody in the chair, “I know he’s a good priest. Fuck that, he’s an amazing priest. Have you seen how many people show up at church now? It’s like twice as many as when Father Greg was here. And you and I both know it’s not just because he’s pretty. Although he is pretty. God damn, is he pretty. I mean … You damn.”

She glanced up at the ceiling. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

“Anyway, thank You for tonight.”

She took a deep breath.

“So he says You want him to be a priest. He says he didn’t really feel like himself until he became a priest. I can’t ask him to give that up. Not for me or anyone else. I can’t. I won’t.” She felt immediately better once she’d made that part of her decision. She loved him and he was a priest. She wouldn’t ask him to change for her. What if it was the priest in him who cared for her? If he left the priesthood for her, maybe he wouldn’t care about her anymore?

“About the priesthood thing … be straight with me here. Celibacy? You and I both know it’s made-up bullshit, right? We Catholics want to be special, want to be different. God forbid we’re too much like Protestants with their married pastors. The entire church harps constantly on how important the Catholic family is, Catholic marriage, Catholic babies and then we don’t let our own priests have Catholic marriages, Catholic families? We’re making it up. There’s nothing in the Bible about this, right? I’ve read it. You’ve seen me.” She held up the red leather Bible. For the past year she’d immersed herself in the Bible, reading from it every night. She zoned out through a lot of the begetting, but she’d more or less conquered a big chunk of the Old Testament and had worked her way through all the Gospels.

“Jesus didn’t say anything about how people shouldn’t get married or why it’s better to be celibate. Yeah, there’s a lot of stuff in there about not fornicating, but there’s also a lot of stuff in there about not eating shellfish or having poly-blend fibers. Seriously? What’s Your problem with spandex?”

She raised her hands in surrender.

“I know, I know. It’s not You. This was our baggage and we put Your name on it and we blamed You. Our bad. Søren said to treat the Bible not as a work of history or a science textbook and to treat it instead like Communion. Communion is a spiritual meal, not a physical meal. So the Bible’s the same thing—it feeds our soul. It’s not a how-to manual.”

Eleanor realized she’d gotten off topic. She’d never talked to a chair before and rather enjoyed having a captive audience. She should do this more often. Maybe she’d stick a real person in the chair next time. She could gag him and get the same sort of undivided attention.

“So to my point, God. I have one. I love Søren. I love him, and I’m in love with him. I love everything about him, even the stuff I don’t know about him. He’s proved to me that he’s a good person no matter what it is that he’s scared to tell me. I don’t care if he’s a wolf. He says I’m not a sheep, which is either a compliment or a threat. Both, probably.”

As soon as she said “both” she knew that was the right answer.

“In Hebrews … I think. I think it’s Hebrews, it says that ‘faith is the assurance of things hoped for, a conviction of things not seen.’ Something like that. So I’m saying now that I have faith in Søren. And he has faith in You. It’s the best I can give You right now so I hope it’s enough. I know he has secrets, stuff he’s not ready or willing to tell me. It’s okay. I still believe in him. He believed in me, so the least I can do is return the favor, right?”

Eleanor took another deep breath as she came to the conclusion of her rambling, barely coherent prayer.

“So here’s the deal. I promise that if You let me have him, even in a small way, if You let us be together like we want to be …” She decided to not go into excruciating detail about exactly how she wanted to be with him. Surely God, if He existed, was well aware of the sexual fantasies she entertained on a nightly basis about Søren. “If You do that, let us be together, then I promise You I will never let him leave the priesthood for me. I don’t need to get married. I don’t need to have kids. I don’t even need him. But please, God, let us be together.”

The words hurt coming out. And because they hurt she knew she meant them.

In her mind she wore a wedding dress—white and made of silk—and held two pairs of baby shoes in the palm of her hand. She kissed the toes of the tiny shoes and sat them gently inside a large wooden trunk. Then she took off the wedding dress and carefully folded it, laying it over the baby shoes. She closed the trunk and locked it with a key. With all her might she tossed the key into the sky, flinging it a thousand miles away so it landed into the center of the ocean and sunk into the black waters of night. And on the off chance someone found that key and brought it back to her, she doused the trunk with gasoline, struck a match, set it on fire and watched it burn.

The tears came in silent waves as inside the privacy of her own mind, she burned her dreams to ashes. What would rise from those ashes she didn’t know—she only knew something would be born from them, something she’d never seen before.

A new dream. A better dream.

A wind rustled the ashes at her feet. She opened her eyes and stared again at the empty chair.