7.

Two days later I got my period, and that’s the first time I realized I could have gotten pregnant. I swear, it never entered my head until then. I was in the bathroom, putting the pad in my underwear, when I suddenly went cold all over. I was so relieved, but I was scared, too — scared because if I let a boy put his thing in me again, I could in big trouble.

And I wanted a boy to put his thing in me again.

I went to my room and, taking my rosary beads out of my top drawer, I knelt down beside my bed and prayed. First, I thanked God for giving me another chance. Then, I promised Him I would be a good girl from now on. Or I would try to be good. I asked Him for the strength to resist my dirty urges — even the urge to touch myself, because I thought if I did that, it would so good that I would want to do the other.

I thought maybe I could just do things with Lisa. I couldn’t get pregnant that way. But that was a sin, too, and after a while it might not be enough. I had to stop everything. It was easy to say that now, when I was still shaken up, but what about tomorrow? And the next day? And all the long years ahead until I married Eddie, or somebody else?

The thing was, I loved sex, and I wasn’t allowed to. At least not yet.

Mom stuck her head in the door, checking up on me again. This time she liked what she saw.

“Oh, she’s saying her prayers,” she said, and she left again.

Finally, I said an Act of Contrition, but that was only what Sister calls a last resort — like, if it’s an emergency, and you’re going to die, you can say it and you’ll go to heaven. But when you have time, she says, you need to go to confession, and that wasn’t until Saturday afternoon, which was still two days away.

It’s a strange feeling, going day to day, minute by minute, knowing you’re in a state of mortal sin. I was really scared that if I got hit by a car or something, I would end up in hell. Seriously, for the rest of the week I never crossed against the light. I hardly spoke to Linda or Eddie, either, even though they both asked me to come over. And every night I prayed in bed, with my rosary under my pillow.

At last, the day came, and I told my mom I was going to walk over to church.

“What for, Cynthia?”

“Just a visit.”

“They’re hearing confessions this afternoon,” she said. “You might want to take the sacrament.”

“OK.”

Good. It’s her idea.

“Is there something on your conscience?”

“No. I’m just feeling devout.”

“Feeling devout, huh?”

So I would have to confess lying to my mom, too.

Our church was built the year I was born. It’s supposed to feel like a Gothic cathedral, except without the buttresses. It’s shaped like a cross, with a high vault in the middle and stained-glass windows on every side depicting scenes from the life of Jesus, and the Virgin Mary, and a bunch of saints I could never identify. Today the sun was out, and walking down the middle aisle was like walking through a giant kaleidoscope. It can make you think heaven is real.

The confessionals are underneath the big rose windows in each transept. (Sister told us once what everything is called. The boys went nuts at the word “apse.”) The lines were short, and a few people were kneeling in the pews saying their penance. I didn’t see anybody I knew from school. It was mostly adults. I wondered if Eddie or Lisa had already been there and confessed. Maybe they didn’t feel guilty.

Or maybe they weren’t scared of getting pregnant.

The red light over one of the confessionals blinked off, and an old woman came out and held the red curtain for me. I went in an knelt in the dark. I had my rosary wrapped around my fingers, which I’d locked together so tight they went cold. The seconds dragged as I listened to the murmuring coming from the other booth, getting more and more nervous. I was about to chicken out and leave when the portal on the other side slid shut and the one in front of my face swept open with a whoosh that startled me like thunder.

You can’t see in there. You talk into the darkness through a screen. It’s supposed to be anonymous.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one month since my last confession.”

I couldn’t go on.

Then the priest said, “Yes, dear?”

Just my luck. It was Father Ransom.

“Um, in that time, I — I lied to my mother once—”

More dead air.

“And is the thing you lied about the thing you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Purple.”

So much for being anonymous.

“I have sinned against the ... the sixth commandment.”

That was a guess. The sixth commandment says “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” Sister never told us what that was. I assumed it was something adults did, and adults do sex.

“You committed a sexual sin?” he asked.

Got it right.

“Yes, Father.”

“With yourself?”

“Yes, Father. And...”

“Ad what?”

“I ... I let a boy do things to me.”

I thought I’d start with Eddie. If this went well, we could get to the girl stuff later.

“You let him touch you?”

“Yes, Father.”

“On your breasts and in between your legs?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And were you naked?”

“Yea, Father.”

“And did you let him do more than touch you?”

When I didn’t answer, he knew everything.

“Did you have sexual intercourse?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Where did this take place?”

“In my bedroom.”

“Were you both naked?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And which one of you was on top?”

“Um, he was.”

“Mm-hm. And did you have an orgasm?”

“Yes, Father.”

“A big one?”

“Yes, Father.”

“How big?”

“Very ... very big.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Well ... yes.”

“I mean,” he went on, “is this something you wanted to happen, or did it just ... overwhelm you?”

“Both, I guess.”

“How was it both?”

“I mean, I wanted it, but when it happened, it was a surprise.”

“You see, doing it is bad enough. But liking it, loving it, that is what we call concupiscence, and it compounds your sin.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You can’t do these things with boys anymore.”

And like an idiot, I said, “What about girls?”

“What have you done with girls!?“

“Things...”

“Did she put her mouth on you?”

“Yes, Father?”

“Between your legs?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And were you naked with her, too?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?“

“Yes, Father.”

“And did you come?”

“Yes!”

“How hard did you come?”

“I came so hard...”

“This is serious, child. Do you have your rosary with you?”

“Yes, Father.”

“I want you to pray the entire rosary. Stay in church, and when I’m finished we’ll discuss your penance further. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“I absolve you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit...”

In a minute I was in kneeling in the front pew, praying to the statue of the Blessed Virgin that stands in the niche over side altar. She was holding a rosary too. This was ridiculous. If my full penance was anything like my last one, I’d be swallowing this guy’s cream again. But he knew who I was. If I ran home, he’d call my mother and tell her everything, even though they say they’re not supposed to tell. And whatever he had in mind, it couldn’t be worse than what I had already done. If absolution meant putting his penis in my mouth, it would be worth it.

I was pretty naïve back then.

I said the Our Father, ten Hail Marys and a Glory Be. Then I started over again. It’s hypnotic. After a while you lose yourself in the rhythm of the prayers, and you’re going so fast the words don’t mean anything anymore. HailmaryfullofgracethelordiswiththeeblessèdartthouamngwomenandblessedisthefiurtofthywombJesus... but you can feel it working. And with Mary’s statue in front of me, I know she heard my prayers.