still can’t believe they’re thinking about moving
there.”
“I know,” I agreed.
“Kerry. Weird.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” Clo noted.
We agreed.
“I’ve never been to Kerry,” I mused.
“Me neither,” said Sean.
“Maybe it’s nice there,” Clo said wistfully.
-Yeah,” I agreed and then we sat there, silent, until the nurse approached to let Clo know she could go home. We walked her to her car, hugged her goodbye and waved her off.
As we walked to my car, Sean remarked that I looked sad. I was sad. I admitted that when I’d got the call I had panicked, thinking that someone was dead, and that I was so relieved when I found out what it was. It was only when I walked out of the hospital that I realised someone
had died and, whether the baby that Clo was carrying was wanted or not, whether she miscarried or had an abortion, something that was alive inside of her last night was dead
today and that was sad. He put his arm around me and told me we’d all be fine and I knew we would, but for that moment I wasn’t thinking about us.
*
That evening I went to Confession because Confession
was still the best place to chat to Noel. There wasn’t a queue. There never was. Usually, it was just the same two old ladies. I waited for them to confess their sins and tried to imagine what two “auld ones” could get up to that was so bad that each week they’d have to seek absolution and
spend so much time doing it. When the last one came out I entered the box. It was cold and the pew was hard on the knees. I briefly wondered if it was fair to have it be so hard considering the majority of those who knelt on it
were over sixty. Noel slid back the little sliding door that revealed the grille which separated saint from sinner.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, Em, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he grinned.
“Well, if you’d ever pick up your phone I wouldn’t have to kneel to chat to you.”
“I thought you were going away for the weekend?”
“Change of plan,” I said. “Clo had a miscarriage today”
His eye twitched. It always twitched when he was surprised or not sure what to say.
“It’s OK,” I said. “She wasn’t ready to have a baby”
“Maybe God was listening,” he said.
I laughed bitterly like Clo had done before me. “I doubt it. He never listened to me.” I knew I was opening a debate which I normally steered away from with Noel, because I never wanted to hear what he had to say about
God and I didn’t like to fight with him, but today I wanted to hear what he had to say, just so I could tell him to shove it and maybe make myself feel a little better.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Go on,” he said tentatively, sensing that I was looking for a fight.
“OK. How do you know He exists?”
“Who? God?” he asked, playing for time.
“No, Santa,” I replied sarcastically. “Of course God.” “I just do,” was his reply.
“Not good enough,” I challenged.
“OK, it says so in the Bible.”
I couldn’t believe it. “That’s it? It says so in the Bible?” That’s why he gave up his entire life? “OK, let me ask you this. What if it was discovered that the Bible was just another made-up novel written thousands of years ago by
some guy who smoked a lot of pot? Would you believe in God then?”
He laughed. “Someone would have to smoke a lot of pot to come up with that story.”
“Be serious,” I begged.
“OK, Em, I will,” he told me. “The Bible is just the guide. God is a feeling I have inside. He’s part of my soul.”
He smiled and I wondered if he was smoking pot.
Obviously sensing my dissatisfaction, he continued, “OK, you don’t believe in that. But what about all the people who have experienced miracles? What about the people who have seen Our Lady?”
That’s easy, I thought to myself. “A hell of a lot more people claim to have been abducted by aliens and
there.”
“I know,” I agreed.
“Kerry. Weird.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” Clo noted.
We agreed.
“I’ve never been to Kerry,” I mused.
“Me neither,” said Sean.
“Maybe it’s nice there,” Clo said wistfully.
-Yeah,” I agreed and then we sat there, silent, until the nurse approached to let Clo know she could go home. We walked her to her car, hugged her goodbye and waved her off.
As we walked to my car, Sean remarked that I looked sad. I was sad. I admitted that when I’d got the call I had panicked, thinking that someone was dead, and that I was so relieved when I found out what it was. It was only when I walked out of the hospital that I realised someone
had died and, whether the baby that Clo was carrying was wanted or not, whether she miscarried or had an abortion, something that was alive inside of her last night was dead
today and that was sad. He put his arm around me and told me we’d all be fine and I knew we would, but for that moment I wasn’t thinking about us.
*
That evening I went to Confession because Confession
was still the best place to chat to Noel. There wasn’t a queue. There never was. Usually, it was just the same two old ladies. I waited for them to confess their sins and tried to imagine what two “auld ones” could get up to that was so bad that each week they’d have to seek absolution and
spend so much time doing it. When the last one came out I entered the box. It was cold and the pew was hard on the knees. I briefly wondered if it was fair to have it be so hard considering the majority of those who knelt on it
were over sixty. Noel slid back the little sliding door that revealed the grille which separated saint from sinner.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, Em, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he grinned.
“Well, if you’d ever pick up your phone I wouldn’t have to kneel to chat to you.”
“I thought you were going away for the weekend?”
“Change of plan,” I said. “Clo had a miscarriage today”
His eye twitched. It always twitched when he was surprised or not sure what to say.
“It’s OK,” I said. “She wasn’t ready to have a baby”
“Maybe God was listening,” he said.
I laughed bitterly like Clo had done before me. “I doubt it. He never listened to me.” I knew I was opening a debate which I normally steered away from with Noel, because I never wanted to hear what he had to say about
God and I didn’t like to fight with him, but today I wanted to hear what he had to say, just so I could tell him to shove it and maybe make myself feel a little better.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Go on,” he said tentatively, sensing that I was looking for a fight.
“OK. How do you know He exists?”
“Who? God?” he asked, playing for time.
“No, Santa,” I replied sarcastically. “Of course God.” “I just do,” was his reply.
“Not good enough,” I challenged.
“OK, it says so in the Bible.”
I couldn’t believe it. “That’s it? It says so in the Bible?” That’s why he gave up his entire life? “OK, let me ask you this. What if it was discovered that the Bible was just another made-up novel written thousands of years ago by
some guy who smoked a lot of pot? Would you believe in God then?”
He laughed. “Someone would have to smoke a lot of pot to come up with that story.”
“Be serious,” I begged.
“OK, Em, I will,” he told me. “The Bible is just the guide. God is a feeling I have inside. He’s part of my soul.”
He smiled and I wondered if he was smoking pot.
Obviously sensing my dissatisfaction, he continued, “OK, you don’t believe in that. But what about all the people who have experienced miracles? What about the people who have seen Our Lady?”
That’s easy, I thought to myself. “A hell of a lot more people claim to have been abducted by aliens and
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