How It Ended: New and Collected Stories - By Jay McInerney Page 0,109
in the universe.
9.
The churches were packed that Sunday. Liam arrived fifteen minutes early for the ten o'clock Mass and even so he had to stand in the back. He felt the force of Lora's implicit admonishment, along with a kind of sociological embarrassment. Ever since he'd made his way to Stanford, he'd done all he could to distance himself from his heritage and to regard religion as an academic subject. Seeing himself now through the eyes of his friends, he felt ashamed, as if he were standing naked in a room of fully clothed adults, but at the same time he felt the exhilaration of surrender, as if he were a naked infant lying in the sun, absolved of the responsibilities of higher consciousness. For the first time since Tuesday, he felt at home and at peace in his city. He was unexpectedly moved when it came time to exchange the peace of the Lord—a folksy ritual inspired by the Second Vatican Council—which had always seemed artificial to him, the congregants stiffly shaking hands and wishing one another the peace of the Lord, but that day, he found himself clasping the hands of neighbors with special vigor and warmth, looking into their glistening eyes as he uttered, “The peace of the Lord be with you,” the voices of his neighbors swelling and filling the church around him. And when the priest intoned, “Lift up your hearts,” he seemed to feel his own heart swell and rise as he responded, “We have lifted them up to the Lord.” And when, finally, he took the host on his tongue, letting it dissolve on the roof of his mouth, he imagined his inner being infused with light, like a cave suddenly illuminated by a torch.
After Mass he didn't feel he could return directly to the apartment. It would be like smoking a cigarette after running a marathon. He knew he couldn't face Lora in this state, any more than he'd been able to face Jenny, his last girlfriend, the teetotaler, after doing a few lines of coke. Instead, he tested this new lightness of spirit as he walked down to Canal Street, to the edge of the blue police barricades sealing off the zone of destruction from the rest of the city, and stood with his fellow citizens watching the plume of smoke that rose like a white pillar into the blue sky and tilted off to the east before diffusing into the cumulus over Brooklyn. From this distance it was an incongruously beautiful sight.
10.
That night, they walked over to Norman's loft in Chelsea, where everyone was telling their stories. “I'm walking down Greenwich Street and suddenly this plane is practically on top of me,” their host said, passing a joint to Jason, “this huge jet flying just above the tops of the buildings.”
Jason took a hit. “Do you guys remember Carlos, the guy who used to cook for our parties?”
“The cute one with the scar above his eye?”
Jason nodded. “Missing. He was a line chef at Windows on the World.”
“Jesus.”
“Speaking of Jesus,” Lora said, “Liam has rediscovered his faith.”
“What's this?”
“He went to Mass this week.” Lora walked over and ruffled his hair as if he were a child who'd just done something cute. “Didn't you, my love? I think it's sweet.”
“That's great,” Jason said.
“Yeah, really,” Norman said. “I wish I had one to rediscover.”
“Confession,” Jason said. “That's what I've always envied about Catholicism. The idea that you can go into a little booth and cleanse your soul.”
“I don't think I could go and tell some stranger my sins.”
“Oh come on. We Jews have that, too. It's called psychoanalysis.”
“But it doesn't help. I've talked to my shrink twice this week. What can he tell me? That I have every right to feel bad? That I have survivor's guilt? That I should refill my Paxil?”
Norman looked at Liam. “Did it help?”
“I suppose so,” Liam said. He didn't feel he could go into it with this group. It would be like discussing sex with his parents.
Lora took his cheek in her fingers, putting her face close to his and smiling sweetly, or so it appeared, though he'd come to suspect the sincerity of this particular gesture. “We love you, honey,” she said.
As soon as he could, he retreated to a neutral distance; at that moment his phone rang and he answered it, happy for the interruption.
“Liam, it's me,” Sasha said. “Don't hang up. I'm so miserable. I need to see you.”