A story by Leo Gonzales

“Let in some light,” I tell her, and she pulls the curtain back so it’s all bright in just our little area. We’re sittin’ Indian-style behind the tall box, the one Father Aberdeen always speaks at. “You look so purty.” I know she wants to hear it ‘cause how she blushes. I keep goin’. “You’re gorgeous. You’re amazin’. You’re perfect.”

     “Stop,” she says, lookin’ down while I touch her cheek. “Nobody’s perfect.” I look over and see a tiny shelf with a white rosary sittin’ on it. I hold it up to the light and squint. 

     “You think he was perfect?” I ask, and I look at her. 

     She shrugs and rubs her hands on my leg, lookin’ back at the shelf. “Let’s drink this,” she says all whispery. The bottom of the bottle scrapes the wood. “It’s his blood.”

     I start coughin’ from all the dust and we stand up. She tells me she wants to go in the confessional so we go. She takes a sip of the wine and I do too, and then I touch her cheek. “I,” I try to think of somethin’ nice to say, somethin’ every girl wants to hear. “I like your freckles.”

     She laughs and I just know I’m right. Then she kisses me. I don’t know what to say, where to look, so I just kiss her right back. We put our hands on each other and the door swings. We both look up at Father Aberdeen lettin’ the light in and the bottle falls, the blood spillin’ all over his feet.

     He tells us to go back to class and holds my shoulder before I walk away. He tells me I should treat girls nicer, that they deserve more. I nod and he holds my shoulders again while I try to go. “And Charlie,” he says, “Don’t be a dirty boy.” 

This work was featured in issue #16