long time ago never to complain about it. There was one time back in Michigan that Christopher hid in the bushes so he didn’t have to go. His mother called his name over and over, but he didn’t say anything. Then, finally, she got really mad and said,
“Christopher Michael Reese, you get out here…NOW.”
She used his three names. And when she did that, there was no choice. You went. That’s it. Game over. With a stone face, she told Christopher that his father was Catholic. And she had promised herself that his son would be raised Catholic, too, so he would have some connection to his father besides one picture at Christmas.
Christopher wanted to die.
When they were driving home that night, Christopher thought of his dad reading the Bible. Christopher’s dad probably didn’t scramble his letters like Christopher did. He was probably much smarter because that’s what dads were. Much smarter. So, Christopher promised that he would learn to read and know what the Bible words meant, so he could have another way to be close to his dad besides the memory of the tobacco smell on his shirt.
*
As for picking the church, Christopher’s mother always followed the Cold War strategy of her grandmother’s favorite president, Ronald Reagan. Trust but verify. That was how she found St. Joseph’s in Mill Grove. The priest, Father Tom, was fresh from seminary. No scandals. No former parishes. Father Tom checked out. He was a good man. And Christopher needed good men in his life.
But for her own faith, it didn’t matter who the priest was. Or how beautiful the mass. Or the music. Her faith died in the bathtub next to her husband. Of course, when she looked at her son, she understood why people believed in God. But when she sat in church, she didn’t hear His word. All she heard were whispers and gossip from all the good Catholic women who regarded her as that working-class mother (aka “trash”).
Especially Mrs. Collins.
Everything about Kathleen Collins was perfect. From her tight brown hair to her elegant suit to her polite contempt for “those people” Jesus would have actually loved. The Collins family always sat up front. The Collins family was always first in line for Holy Communion. And if her husband’s hair slipped out of place, her finger would be there instantly to put it right back, like a raven’s claw with a tasteful manicure.
As for their son, Brady, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.
If Christopher’s mother only had to deal with Mrs. Collins on Sundays, it would have been tolerable. But Mr. Collins was a real estate developer who owned half of Mill Grove, including Shady Pines, the retirement home where she worked. He put his wife in charge of the place. Mrs. Collins claimed that she took the position to “give back to the community.” What it really meant was that it allowed Mrs. Collins to yell at the staff and the volunteers to make damn sure that her own elderly mother, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s, got the finest care possible. The best room. The best food. The best of everything. Christopher’s mother had traveled enough to know that Mill Grove was a very small pond. But to the Collins family, it may as well have been the Pacific Ocean.
“Mom, what are you thinking about?” Christopher whispered.
“Nothing, honey. Pay attention,” she said.
Right before Father Tom turned the wine into blood with a few well-chosen words, he told the flock that Jesus loved everyone, beginning with Adam and Eve. This prompted Special Ed to begin singing the jingle for Chili’s restaurant.
“I want my baby back baby back baby back! Adam’s baby back ribs!”
This was met with thunderous laughter, especially by Special Ed’s parents.
“Good one, Eddie. My baby is so clever!” his mother said, her fleshy arms jiggling.
Father Tom and the CCD teacher, Mrs. Radcliffe, sighed, as if realizing that Special Ed’s discipline was now entirely their job.
“First Holy Communion is going to be awesome,” Special Ed said in the parking lot after church. “We get money. And we even get to drink wine.”
“Really?” Christopher asked. “Is that true, Mom?”
“It’s part of Communion. But it’ll be grape juice,” she said.
“That’s okay. I can get wine at home. Bye, Mrs. Reese,” Special Ed said before leaving to hit up the bake sale table with his parents.
*
On the drive home, Christopher thought about mass. How Jesus loved everyone. Even mean people. Like Jenny Hertzog and Brady Collins. And Jerry. Christopher thought