Sins of the Fathers by Chris Lynch

Author:Chris Lynch [Lynch, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-0454-0
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-01-16T21:08:00+00:00

Divide and Conquer

THERE’S NEVER A GOOD TIME for confession. But sometimes the time is so bad it makes you certain there is a God.

It was another part of the ongoing drive to get us to our Confirmation, earning us the Gifts of the Holy Spirit and certifying us as Soldiers in Christ. It had never occurred to me that Christ would need soldiers, or that he’d be the military commander type, but I guess that’s why I was here to be educated.

We were sitting in the front pews, stage left of the humongous church, made all the more humongous by the fact that our Confirmation class was the only group in the place. This was uncomfortable enough under regular circumstances, on a Saturday when anybody from the parish or even outside it was welcome. At least then you could try and blend in with the population at large. With a little mumbling and voice warp you might be able to pass yourself off as one of the old-folk Confession groupies who were always there waiting when they opened up shop, even if they didn’t appear to have the strength to commit a sin, or one of the older teenagers who were hoping to commit some that night and wanted to get their booster shot. But here, now, just twenty-six little boot-campers for the Army of the Lord matched up with the two priests who had spent months preparing them for that very same Confirmation? What were the chances he wouldn’t know who we were when we were in there? They were not supposed to know, they were just supposed to be God’s switchboard operators and not listen in.

Skitz Fitz was squirming more than usual. He had been squirming since the moment Monsignor suggested shipping him out.

“Do you think they’ll do it, Drew? Do you think they’re gonna send me to Mattapan?”

“C’mon, Skitz, we’ve always known it’s just a matter of time. You’re going to Mattapan.”

Mattapan was famous, for one thing. It was so renowned for the old state mental hospital there, lots of people weren’t even aware there was an actual town wrapped around it. Nine times out of ten, when somebody just used the word Mattapan they were referring to what the old-timers called “The Mattapan Nuthouse,” and it didn’t even matter that the place had been closed for years. If somebody said you were going to be put in Mattapan, it meant you were officially mental.

“This is serious, Drew. I can’t go anyplace without you guys. Monsignor Jerkwad was right—I won’t make it on the outside.”

Jerkwads though they be, this was their thing. They knew stuff, the priests. They knew stuff about you that you didn’t expect them to know. I don’t know if the seminary over there in Brighton had some special Department of Getting Inside Poor Chumps’ Heads and Then Screwing Them Up with It, but somehow their graduates had a knack for doing just that. I had to give them credit.

Wait. No, I didn’t.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Skitz.

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