up in her life for the last three days, she had completely forgotten that today was the history final. It was her last final before Christmas break. She needed this grade to keep her straight-A average. She needed this grade to get into Notre Dame. She needed Notre Dame for her parents to forgive her.
Mary Katherine tried to focus on the test, but all she noticed were the aches in her body. The itch on her arm was screaming. And she just didn’t understand why her boobs hurt so much. Was that what happened to girls after they became orally sexual? She didn’t know. But she didn’t dare look it up on the internet because her parents monitored her search history. And she couldn’t use the library’s computer because the administration monitored everything since some boys were caught downloading porn last year. She wished she knew a counselor she could ask, but counselors were for girls with problems or reputations. Like Debbie Dunham. Mary Katherine never had any problems. Not until now.
She felt like she was going to throw up again.
She somehow managed to finish her test and get through the school day by skipping lunch and swatting away Doug’s texts like flies. After school, she came home to an icy silence. The only thing her parents said to her was that they were going to church.
“Do you want to join us or do you want to rot in Hell?” her father asked.
Mary Katherine rode in silence all the way to church. She sat dutifully on the hard bench despite her physical discomfort. She didn’t know why Father Tom was holding mass on a Thursday night, but she didn’t dare question it. Mary Katherine had come to this building fifty-two Sundays (plus Christmas Eves and Christmas Days and Good Fridays and Ash Wednesdays and CCD) every year since she was born. And yet, she realized she had never really seen the people who came here at night when everyone else was home and safe. She didn’t even know these people existed. But there they were, some dressed as homeless people. Some were bickering with each other. Some of them seemed a little crazy. Or a little sick. So, Mary Katherine paid particular attention to Father Tom’s homily. When he asked the congregation to pray for the refugees in the Middle East before another war broke out, Mary Katherine turned off all noise about Notre Dame, Doug, and her parents, and prayed to deliver those poor people.
When they started the profession of the faith, she saw Mrs. Radcliffe with the collection basket. Mary Katherine remembered all of those years in CCD. Mrs. Radcliffe told her parents she was such a good student. Such a good little girl. She wanted to be that girl again. The girl in the white gown receiving her first Holy Communion. The girl who learned from Mrs. Radcliffe that the Communion wafer was the body of Christ and the wine was His blood. The little girl who told the boys to stop making fun of Mrs. Radcliffe after her big boobs brushed against the chalkboard in CCD and for the rest of the class, she had two perfect white chalky headlights on her blouse.
When Mrs. Radcliffe brought the collection basket to her row, Mary Katherine gave her all of the money she had.
“Thank you for teaching me about God, Mrs. Radcliffe,” she said.
Mary Katherine smiled.
Mrs. Radcliffe did not smile back.
She just scratched her arm.
The rite of Communion began. Father Tom led the congregation in the Lord’s Prayer. Mary Katherine stood up with her parents to receive Communion. She suddenly had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Mary Katherine reached the front of the line. She stood in front of Father Tom with her hands open.
“Body of Christ,” he said.
Mary Katherine brought the wafer to her mouth. She made the sign of the cross and chewed it as she had at least fifty-two times a year since she was seven years old. But this time, the wafer didn’t taste like bland Styrofoam.
It tasted like flesh.
Mary Katherine stopped chewing. She looked up and saw her parents staring at her. She wanted to spit the wafer out, but she didn’t dare. She went to Mrs. Radcliffe, who was holding the goblet of wine. Mary Katherine normally didn’t take the wine, but she had to wash this taste out of her mouth. Mrs. Radcliffe handed her the goblet. Mary Katherine made the sign of the cross and drank