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"We acknowledge those here today, especially the visitors." The words fell effortlessly from Father Charlie's mouth, rough without a single strain as .. both of his hands gripped the wooden pulpit: his slender fingers lightly tracing the edge and corner — dark alluring eyes falling over the congregation, taking in those innocent and in prayer. His usual presence was commanding yet calm, the way his voice carried during a sermon, a cadence that always wrapped around the listener's heart, pulling in every single person without effort. - His eyes, although soft with compassion, held an intensity that hinted at secrets unbeknownst to the innocent parishioners. Even in the simplicity of his vestments, there always was an underlying elegance with Charlie, a grace in the way he moved and spoke that suggested an inner strength, a calm certainty in this shit show town.
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"O god, come to our aid." His voice cut through the church with facility: that usual, clear voice echoing across the white stained walls.
"Oh lord, make haste to help us all."
Usually, with Charles Mayhew, you'd slowly start to remember each prayer he began with. By now, they were utterly enmeshed in my brain, consuming me as I sat there — third pew from the stage, with a clear view of the Father. Warm hues, created by all stained glass windows, shone from different directions. St Micheal and St Matthew from behind us. Perspiring colours so inviting to anyone, religious or not.
"Glory be to the father, and to the son and to the holy spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and evermore shall be, world without end."
A lingering 'Amen' echoed throughout the wooden pews, and the hands of the elders clapped at the mere beginning of his sermon: How could a twenty seven year old priest bring such awe to those so traditional? Even conservative families that believed in your boring old, horrendous looking, loyal priest enjoyed the fresh out of high-school, early in priesthood, attractive young man causing all the ladies to arrive at church earlier for reconciliation.
Only then did my mum look over from my right side, her light green eyes focusing on me as the Bible in her hand settled onto my lap before gesturing to the verse that he'd reference in his sermon.
Father Charlie hazily stepped down from the stage, making his way to the row in-between the pews filled by those seeking the word of the lord. "I wanted to talk a little bit to you all, because hey, it's sort of what I do best: and what can I say .."
"I like hearing myself speak." He retorted as the church fell into low laughter, those finding his warm tone and passionate easygoing words funny. Comforting in a way. A small smile fell upon my lips, as his rough dark eyes glanced in my direction; with that usual expression, a subtle smirk placed on his lips as a wink fell my way before he clasped his hands back together.
