Crush

Felicia was her name. He liked to call her a friend. For a man in his line of work, it was not particularly a thing to advertise. Still, as each day passed, he let her suck him into her bubble. Her energy was contagious, her beauty was blinding and he dared not speak of her body, although its perfection always seemed to be the elephant in the room.

Amongst his peers, he was quite a bore. They said he was too serious for his age. It was true that his job was not one to meddle with, but one had to laugh sometimes, right? Life was too short after all. If only they knew that a certain female left him in stitches each time they met.  They probably would have advised him to be more devoted to his work and shed off such dangerous distractions. Each time they invited him to come out with them, he turned them down. He could do without their weekly beer and suya meetup. He had his own after all.

Maybe it would have helped if he had other friends. Maybe they would have warned him earlier. Any girl who could laugh at his jokes was probably attracted to him or wanted something. He was not a bad man to look at and he found time to work out a few times in a month. Ever since he met her, as he soon realised, working out had become a daily affair. He was subconsciously trying to impress the girl. The woman, actually. She was 22 and she looked like a fertility goddess.

He sat quietly at his dining table and his head was fogged with thoughts of her. It had become a routine. He thought about her in the most inappropriate places. Now he was laughing at something she said the last time he saw her. It shouldn't have been funny, but it was the way her mouth was curved when she said it. Or was it because her pink puckered lips made him think of the forbidden? He chose not to answer the question. Any option would either be a lie or an abomination.

A slight knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was the Bishop.

'Your Grace', he said as he bowed slightly in reverence.

'Father John. I hope you are having a wonderful evening', the Bishop replied as he quickly lowered himself into a nearby chair. His right hip still hurt from the bullet he took six months ago when his house was attacked by assailants. Two priests had been lost on that day and he liked to call himself lucky. At least he had made it out alive.

'How have you been?' he asked Father John.

'Very fine, sir. You?' 

'As good as can be. Except that my limp has refused to disappear as the doctor promised,' said the Bishop. He could never have a full conversation without referring to his hip. It had become old and the sad looks that usually followed his grumbling were now replaced with eye rolling. It took will power for John not to roll his eyes.

'I'm sure it will heal in God's time. Please what can I offer you, Your Grace?'

'Oh nothing my son. I just came to tell you a story.'

John struggled to keep a straight face. If the Bishop's homilies were anything to go by, he feared he might sleep off before he caught the moral lesson in this one.

'I have all night, Your Grace', John replied. It was 6pm.

'I met her after confession. Despite her blonde unkempt wig and her small round stature, she was beautiful', the Bishop started.

'Who was, Your Grace?'

'Let me finish first', he retorted and cleared his throat. There was a lone tumbler on the table filled with water. He reached for it absently and drank. Then he continued.

'I had seen ladies like her before. They came in their numbers when I was new to priesthood. They always wanted me to do something for them. Some had sacramentals that they wanted me to bless. Others wanted advice in their relationships or marriages. I pretended not to notice when their hands lingered in mine or when they made inappropriate body contact with me. The older I got, the fewer they became until the number trickled down to zero. Then she came along. I did not expect her to take a second look at me, but she did. She came for confession every week after that and she made sure to sit at the front of every mass I celebrated. Each time, she wore something more breathtaking than the last. I always noticed her even when I swore I wouldn't. When she finally came to me at office hours, I smiled. Not because I was attracted to her-although I definitely was-but because it was long overdue. She had changed her hair to a more conservative colour and she had no lipstick on. The story was that her fiance had left her and she needed comfort. For a minute, I wanted to be her Jesus. Her tears had captured my sympathy and her lost eyes had me entrapped. I knew it was wrong to let her wrap her arms around me but I did. I pretended not to notice when the hug had become less desperate and more seductive. I let her run her small hands up my back until a finger got stuck in the chain that held my crucifix. My mother had given it me the previous year right after she said, 'My son, you are truly a man after God's heart.' The hands that were suddenly between my thighs did not make me feel like the man she spoke of. I pushed the woman away and told her never to return. I took a break from the city and begged that I visit my mother. She was sick then and it was high time I visited. When I returned, she was not there and I've not seen her ever since. Still, I could never forget those eyes,' he finished quietly. It was far from the boring story Father John had expected. Actually, it was quite intriguing and confusing.

'Your Grace, I appreciate that you shared such a sensitive story with me. I just do not understand why you did so,' he said.

'Just be careful my son. Women are more conniving than meets the eye', the Bishop replied as he struggled to stand. Father John rushed to support him and ensured a hitch-free exit from the small room.

A lot had happened in six months since the bishop had visited. John was standing quietly by the small bed staring at the wall which he had converted to his very own board. He had taken to writing Bible verses.

James 1:14-15

But we are tempted when we are drawn away and trapped by our own evil desires. Then our evil desires conceive and give birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death

Matthew 6:13
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from all evil.

Proverbs 7:25-26
Do not let such a woman win your heart; don't go wandering after her. She has been the ruin of many men and caused the death of too many to count. 

John had never expected Felicia to be a sixteen year old high schooler. She had told him otherwise. She had shown him otherwise. How could such a young inexperienced girl do all those things she had done to him? He remembered wistfully when he had decided to give up priesthood for her. Her perfectly manicured fingers had grabbed his derriere while she playfully bit the skin overlying his jugular. She had truly gone for the kill that night. He had not seen her since then and he dared not call her. He preferred to say she was the devil who came to him. He never went looking for her. It seemed like a great defense at the time.

She had eventually returned, this time with a small crowd and a pregnancy test result that ended John's life. His 'Father' title was stripped so quickly as if they only had to blow out the naked flame of a candle to refute the fourteen years he had spent in the seminary. He was taken away in cuffs too. It was supposed to be a beautiful Sunday morning. The congregation did not deserve to see him manhandled and thrown into the back of a police truck. It was not good for their faith.

He had been pacing all morning, but he finally settled on his little bed. Sleep eluded him. His nights were filled with dreams of her. Sometimes it was the stupefying sex. Other times, it was a replay of the small melodrama he had been in before they took him away. He thanked God for the good dreamless nights, although he doubted He wanted to hear from him again. As he chuckled silently at how far he had fallen in such a short time, he noticed a figure approaching his cell. He knew that gait from anywhere-graceful and alluring at the same time. She had come to see him.

'Felicia,' he managed to whisper.

'Father J,' she responded slyly. ' How are you holding up?'

'What do you even want?'

She smiled and ran two fingers over one of the bars that permanently separated him from the world. Those fingers. They were still doing crazy things to his pulse.

'It is simple. I don't think judgemental priests like you should be at the pulpit.'

'What?? Why? I am an impeccable priest!'

She clucked her tongue and laughed. That laugh used to pacify him. Now it dripped with sarcasm.

'You were, Father J. Were is the key word.'

'What did I ever do to you?'

'Well...let's see. My friend tells you something in confidence and you turn it into a homily.'

John was dumbfounded. He did not understand her words.

'What was that you said again? "How dare you rip out a growing child from your belly? It is like spitting on God's face! Some people here are still searching for the fruit while others are flushing it down the drain." I hope this little escapade of yours also rained saliva on your God's face,' she told him. Her imitation of his voice was a poor one, but that was an inconsequential detail at the time.

John suddenly remembered the day she spoke of. She was right. That homily had truly been inspired by someone's confession.

What of our baby?' he asked weakly. At least he had something to look forward to after doing time.

'How do I put this? It has been 'ripped' out of my belly,' she said matter-of-factly and turned to leave. 'Bye J.'

It was only when John tasted salt that he realised he was crying. He should have listened to the Bishop.

Women were more conniving than one could ever imagine. Even the littlest ones.

#TheRitaSide

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