"The Lord's Prayer"

Natalya Carrico

Everyone said Sister Therese was for sure the only nun at our school who wasn't a virgin. We whispered about her whenever we could and cast her glances like curses. She was pretty, too pretty for her own good, with long, autumn-red hair that she almost always kept hidden and cheekbones that sloped softly to cup her face. What really upset us, though, was her age. She was young enough to pose a threat to us, but old enough to know better. Because of that line she so delicately tip-toed, some even went so far as to hate her. They wanted to see her fall, watch her shatter into thousands of little shards so they could sweep her away. Sister Therese, ever the one to give us her heart rather than a piece of her mind, never lost her balance.

I would see her walking down the hall after class, swaying her hips like there was some wonderful secret between her thighs. Despite the hushed voices swirling in the cafeteria and the wildly impossible rumors we brewed whenever we found the inspiration - and that was not difficult - I could never bring myself to jealousy. The meanest string of lies could fall right out of my mouth like baby teeth - one by one; disgusting little things that didn't belong nestled in the soft crevices there -- and still I would know that my repugnance was an act, believed only because it was easier that way.

In actuality, I was afraid to talk to her, afraid even an accidental sweeping of my hand across her flesh would scorch her with my sins. When she would recite the Lord's Prayer with us, it was reborn through her lips, transformed by her voice. And everything she read to us she read with calm conviction, with a knowing so deep and sure that words became nothing less than absolute fact. She was the only one who had ever lifted me, made me feel that I was in the room with God; because of this, because of her ethereal, baptismal voice paired with those wicked-sin hips that swayed like an incantation of fallen angels because of all this, Sister Therese was the most precious enigma I had ever known.

It was pitch-black outside, the sun having set several hours earlier. Nothing stirred as I slipped into the church through the side door - which was never locked and carefully made my way along the hall. The only light source was a long, metal shelf of tea candles burning with quiet vigilance. At the sudden sound of distant thunder, my chest filled with electricity, and my blood began to evaporate drop by drop from my veins. It wasn't the first time I had snuck out, but each time I did, I risked more than just suspension or the ever-dreaded expulsion: night's great and wordless secrets were what I held dear, what I rewarded myself with whenever I needed peace, and the thought of giving them up was nauseating at best.

Soundlessly, I made my way to a corner of the chapel and slid onto the floor against a pew. The emptiness of the room was a welcome abnormality. I shut my eyes and slowed my breath. After sitting there in silence for a few seconds, the alien weight in my hand forced my eyes to reopen. What a fool, I thought, shifting the glass bottle between my fingers. It was full of a sharp-scented, colorless liquid that I had never found all that great. I'd brought it to share with Anthony on our anniversary, at his suggestion. So far he was a no-show, but sneaking out successfully was never guaranteed.

I don't know how long I waited. My fingers started to sweat, and soon it became impossible to sit still. I began to get fidgety, watching the shadows for movement. I decided to wait exactly two minutes more for Anthony and began to count to sixty in my head. Rising to my feet, I moved toward a stone archway - fifteen, sixteen, seventeen - and leaned against it with a sigh that seemed to echo forever - until I realized that the sound really was not stopping. My breathing had come to a sudden halt, but the room carried the sigh along the aisle, over the pews, and into the corner lit by candles.

"I'm not crazy," I couldn't help but whisper to myself.

As if in response the sound rose, almost sweetly, before it rumbled back down and blended into the growl of approaching thunder.

I was not alone.

I crouched low, not wanting to be seen by whatever had made that noise. It was hiding well, this thing, as my eyes stayed focused on the dimly lit corner and yet saw nothing. In one motion, I set the bottle down and began to slink forward on hands and knees. The smells of the old, wooden seats and paperymildew books were intensified at my position near the floor. I repressed a sneeze and continued on towards the flickering shadows in the corner. I just wanted to know what else was hiding in the church at such an hour; once I saw even a glimpse of it, I would leave I promised myself.

Then there was a laugh: a dark, breathy sound that I could not differentiate from the sound of the storm. Maybe I was hearing things again. The church echoed strangely at night, I had come to find. How could I be sure what I had heard was even real? Even as I asked myself this, I knew I had heard breathing; I knew I had heard laughter, but what chilled me almost to the point of retreat was the thought that the sounds I heard couldn't have come from a human being.

The rows of tea candles came into full view. Despite the windows being closed, I realized that the dark, gold light cast upon the ground was flickering back and forth. My breath caught in my throat, and I gripped the wall for support. I had to leave; there was something wrong with all of this, with the inhuman sounds and the flames dancing without wind, but I did not move.

I heard a voice, and this time I realized it was not coming from the sky.

The confessional in the corner glowed unlike I had ever seen. I noticed that some candles had been moved off the altar and placed inside the booth. Before I could even register the fact that the doorway curtain was not closed all the way, she came into full view.

Her hair was a warm copper color in the light, tussled gently and falling upon her perfectly sculpted shoulders and back. Her face was still obscured, but it was that hair, that autumnalfire-red hue, that left her unmistakable to me. Before I could look away, my gaze had already followed the curvature of her spine down her bare back and legs until she reached the floor. My mouth dropped open as I watched her swaying in and out of view from behind the curtain like an unearthly ballerina.

A short giggle rang clear in my ears, but it sounded nothing like I had anticipated. The sound was heavier somehow. My brow furrowed, and I waited for the sound again before I realized it had not been Sister Therese's voice. I watched the silhouette again, patiently, until her hair flowed into view. Yes, it was her. It had to be her. Maybe, I thought, her voice sounded different when she was sinning like the rest of us.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."

The candles flickered, and I watched the mass of shadow in the confessional melt apart just slightly. Before my eyes, one shadow became two, and I saw the silhouette of someone else's head. The stranger planted a slow kiss on Sister Therese's lips before melding back into the darkness. I dared not breathe as I brought myself a few inches closer to the booth, spellbound. I watched this stranger pass fingers through that mane of red hair over and over, as if trying to capture its beauty.

"...Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven..."

Suddenly the sky lit up, and the church was filled with an incredible light. In that brief time, I hunched myself against the wall, trying to stay hidden, and cast a glance at the stained glass windows. The Virgin was glowing like she was made of fire.

A laugh rolled dark and deep. "...and forgive us our trespasses..."

Startled by a sudden clap of thunder, I clenched my fists and prayed that Anthony wouldn't show up. Not now. Not when I was so close to knowing who the other shadow belonged to. I had to see the stranger's face.

"And lead us not into temptation..."

The shadows suddenly lifted, like a giant wave, and I watched the shadows press themselves together. Their voices swelled, beautiful and blasphemous, a dark ocean of sound. Outside, the rain began to pour.

"--but deliver us from Evil..."

I took in a quick breath as the stranger finally passed by the opening of the curtain. Straining my eyes, I struggled to see a face, a feature, anything and missed the opportunity as shadows overtook its form. And then I heard a low, exultant laugh that made my skin prickle.

"Amen."

"Forgive me," I whispered, my voice inaudible above the storm, as I realized I could not look away. Thunder cracked like a fist into bone, and I slapped my hands over my ears to block out the sound.

I watched as Sister Therese's arms - or what I guessed to be hers, enveloped the stranger's slim waist like serpents. Shadows and shapes and textures all became one in the dark, but I heard that laughter, that unfamiliar voice that blended into Sister Therese's, as they both began to make those sounds again...those beautiful, blasphemous sounds.

Then, just as lightning split the sky, all was revealed.

I saw a head thick with wild, blonde hair; I saw wine-red lips that laughed at the forbidden; I saw skin glistening like the night rain itself and this time, too, I saw a face.

And suddenly, I knew.

There is nothing as unforgettable as the sensation of finding Truth. Everything around me at first was unreal: the torrents of rain pouring down onto the church, the sudden recognition in Sister Therese's eyes as her gaze locked with mine, the way the blonde stranger's body curved and glowed like the moon. I stood up and ran out of the chapel as fast as I could.

The rain pelted me from every direction like a thousand stones. Suddenly, I could hear triumphant laughter coming from the sky, filling each and every fat raindrop, and before I knew it, I was laughing, too. I spread my arms wide open and embraced the amazing power of the storm, the sound of my voice finally freed from my throat. I didn't stop for a long time.

I had just seen God face-to-face, and She was in love with a woman.