Hail Mary (As Read for David Sedaris)

“Oh my God, you guys,” I said, wiping my one sip of tequila off my twelve-year-old chin. “I think I’m drunk!” 

After the adults went to bed, my cousins, Cookie, Letty, and Monica, had commandeered my bedroom on the opposite side of the house.

“We should play ding-dong-ditch,” I suggested, passing the bottle of Patron to Letty. 

“Hell yeah!” Letty agreed, then took a swig.

“No. We have to be up early in the morning for your first communion, Luis,” Monica reminded us. Monica was number three in the hierarchy of cool-cousins, but only because she was a year older than me. 

“I can tell we’re gonna be so hung over,” the Grand Poo-Bah of cousindom announced. Cookie was the oldest, which automatically made her number one. We called her Cookie because of the big black mole on the center of her nose. Any lower in rank, and we might have called her roach-face or Guaca-mol-é.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be so hung over,” Letty, number two, parroted.

I, number four, agreed. “Oh, we’re gonna be hella hungover.” 

The following morning, my mom shook me awake.

“Levántate! Get up! You’re Tío Armando is here, and it’s late!” she yelled, yanking off my Saved by The Bell comforter. Armando was the family priest and my dad’s brother––in that order. I hadn’t seen him since he performed the service at my dad’s wake the year before.

“But Mom, I’m so tired!” 

“Cepíllate los dientes, brush your teeth, and go say hi. And take a shower after.” 

As I made my way down the hall, I began tripping over my feet and bumping into walls, pretending to be hungover after our cool cousin bender. Unfortunately, no cousins were around to witness. I turned the corner into the kitchen, and we locked eyes.

"Hola, Nachito," Tío Armando greeted me.

I composed myself, hoping he hadn’t seen my performance. Cookie and Letty were standing behind him, giggling. 

“Ugh. Bitches,” I thought. 

I walked over to the sink and wet my fingers. I then walked over to my uncle, briefly bent one knee, and made the sign of the cross with my hand. 

“Amen,” I nodded. 

“Well, that’s a greeting,” Tío Armando chuckled, and then hugged me.  

He smelled like my dad.

I had just gotten in the shower when I heard the door open.

“Mom! I’m naked!”

“Aye, como sí nunca te he visto, like I’ve never seen you naked. Hurry up, you have to go to confession.”

“Confession?” I paused. “I already did mine. Months ago. At catechism.”

“Aye, Ignacio.” She only called me by my middle name whenever I said something that annoyed her. “You have to do it again before the ceremony.”

“Okay, but do we have time to go to the church?” 

“No. Armando is going to do it.”

“But he’s my uncle! Do I have to confess everything?” 

“Sí. Porgue? What did you do?”

“Nothing! But it’s just… weird.” 

Not only would I have to confess that I lied, cursed, and had gotten really good at stealing Treasure Trolls from the Dollar Store, but I would also have to confess that it was me who broke into my mom’s liquor cabinet the night before. What if he pressed for more details? I had to figure out how to absolve myself without throwing the girls under the bus. Stealing the bottle of Patron from my mother’s liquor cabinet wasn’t easy. I wasn’t about to lose my new status as cool cousin number three. 

“You’ll be fine,” she assured. 

The backyard was decorated like a Quinceañera. A homemade trellis covered in white Home Interior flowers arched over the spot where Padre Armando would conduct my first communion ceremony. Padre Armando was sitting on a dirty white plastic lawn chair waiting for me. He flashed his charming smile at me, inviting me over. For a moment, I felt at ease. 

He looked like my dad.

“Estás bien? Are you okay?” he asked as I sat down on the chair beside him.

“I’m great!” I lied. I took a deep breath. “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. It’s been…a week since my last confession.” Another lie.

“Dime, mijo. Tell me. What would you like to confess?” 

“I lie. A lot.” There, I thought. I’m safe. 

“It’s okay, mijo. What else?” he prompted.

"Um. I yell at my sister," I confessed, "I'm mean to my brother…" I stopped to look around the backyard, searching for something to spark an idea for another sin to confess since I wouldn't be confessing my cousins and I were a bunch of drunkards. "Oh! Sometimes, I say the F-word, but not at anyone! Just out loud." Fuck. Another lie. I couldn’t stop myself. But it was easier than the truth. The truth was too big for confession.

“And I lie,” I saved myself.

“Yes. You said that.” He smiled my dad’s smile again. “Is there anything else?” 

“Nope, that’s it!” This lie was quick. I didn’t let the whole being gay thing even cross my mind. 

“Okay. For your penance, I’ll need you to say five Hail Marys.”

“Awesome, thanks, Tío! I mean, Padre.” I ran back inside and hailed those Marys, grateful that, at least for now, this Mary would be keeping his rank in the cool cousin hierarchy.

The ceremony was as boring as expected. When Padre Armando dedicated the ceremony to my dad, everyone except me began to cry. All I could think about was spending an eternity without central air conditioning and sweaty balls. I hated the summers in California. From what I heard; Hell was hella hotter. I wasn’t out of the woods yet. After confession, I overheard Cookie telling my little brother that if he hadn’t confessed everything, the priest would find out during the sacrament.

“Before the priest gives you the communion bread, if you’re a liar, it will glow, and only he can see it. If you eat it anyway, you’re going straight to hell,” she warned.

“Fuck it. Spill the beans,” I thought. 

“…body of Christ,” the Padre said, getting my attention. He raised the communion bread before me and placed it on my tongue.

“Oh God. Did it glow? Does he know?” I wondered, tongue still sticking out. Then I realized, “Holy shit! Do not swallow it.” If I didn’t swallow, surely, the ceremony wouldn’t count, right? I slowly retracted my tongue back into my mouth, shut it, then closed my eyes, hoping that I would choke on it. “God,” I prayed, “please. I don’t want to go to hell. I promise, I won’t ever have another drink again. We’ll, not until I’m 21, anyway. And I promise never to lie again. To a priest. Until I’m a grown up.” My prayer was answered when I felt the communion bread stick to the roof of my mouth. Hallelujah. 

Immediately after the ceremony, I rushed to the bathroom to pry Christ’s body off the roof of my mouth. I flicked it in the toilet, flushed, and hailed the Mary in the mirror. Excited to tell Monica the good news, that she was number four now, I flung the door open, and there she was. My mother, Silvia. Standing in the doorway, holding an empty bottle of Patron. 

“It was Cookie!”