Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

The Act of Depreciation

There was a small moment of awkwardness when it was time to let go of his hand. I didn't know how to do it, since I was the one who had instigated it. Priest must have sensed my discomfort and squeezed my hand before releasing me.

The candles had since snubbed out, leaving the church dimly lit by the stained glass windows. The semi-pleasant holiday smell now took the backseat to the lingering smell of vomit. I frowned and looked at him. "Are you sure you can't just stay in the rectory?"

He shook his head. I didn't bother arguing. I knew he liked to stay in the church to wallow in his misery. I had hoped his sober mind might see things differently, but apparently not.

"You've seriously got to give this place up, Priest. It's killing you—obviously. You're not..." I motioned to the room, "...this anymore."

"Yes, you mentioned that I'm not a priest anymore, but what you fail to understand is that I can't just take off my collar and magically become a different man. Speaking of my collar, where is it?" He pinned an accusing gaze on me.

"I have it, but you aren't going to wear it anymore." I pulled the collar from my cleavage. I didn't want it to crease it in my pocket. He eyed the sudden appearance and grabbed for it. I pulled it behind my back and to my surprise he continued to press the issue. "Back off!" He stopped reaching for it, but the glower he was giving me made me wonder if he might get physical with me again.

"Give it to me, now!" he seethed. "It's the only one I have left."

"I'll keep it safe for you, but you aren't wearing it anymore."

"How dare you!"

"How dare you!" I screeched. "You stopped being a priest the minute you sidled up next to the seven deadly sins. Wearing this isn't a statement, it's just another addiction."

He lunged for the collar, grabbing my arm to hold it while he reached around me to grab it. I grabbed his reaching arm with my free hand, leaving me in a pinned-back embrace with him. "Priest, I don't doubt that you'll be able to get it from me, but rest assured the last three months have given me the skills to take it back again."

He must have been surprised by the confidence in my voice, because he stopped to see if I was bluffing or not. I wasn't. And to prove it...

"I've developed a significant pain tolerance during that time as well." I raised my knee slowly up his leg and rested it in his groin. He glanced down at the movement, which was no doubt intriguing in the slow version. "Shall we find out what your tolerance is?"

His face was inches from mine, but we couldn't have been farther apart. I was the mean parent taking away his security blanket. He was past the anger and released my arm, but his face pinched in a pout as he walked away from me.

"I have something else for you to wear." He stopped and looked back. "If you want it? I made it myself, so it's a little kindergarten pasta art-ish, but I think it might fill the space without being a complete blasphemy to your new hobbies."

"Since when do you care about that?" he asked. He groaned as he gingerly sat down in the front pew. He must have been sore everywhere. Almost dying took a lot out of him.

"I'm not sure I do, but everybody has to draw a line in the sand and this is mine."

"A collar is your line in the sand?" He rubbed his eyes.

"No, you torturing yourself is my line. I just can't take it anymore." I joined him in the pew.

"Then why do you keep coming here then?"

I looked away from him. I couldn't help but feel a little sting from that statement after everything I'd done. "Well, someone led me to believe we were friends," I said as acridly as I could to hide my hurt. I may have taken it too far in the opposite direction because he stared at me, waiting for me to look back at him. When I did, he offered me a scolding frown.

"We are friends. I didn't mean now. I meant before. I understand why you came here in the first place, but why did you keep coming back. There are easier ways to deal with the grim." I wanted to mention our code of ethics concerning the home owners, but I knew that was only part of the truth. "Or were you just content to watch one of God's own defile himself repeatedly when you didn't consider him a friend?" His snappish tone was starting to irritate me as much as it had August, but I decided the best defense against his mood swings was a good offense.

"I'm pretty sure you weren't the only one being defiled in here." I nodded to the altar. "But if it makes you feel any better, I stopped viewing you as one of God's own the minute I walked into this church the first time and saw you still here."

His eyes widened and his upper lip nearly lifted into a snarl.

"I could do this all day, Priest," I continued when he didn't offer a retort. "Your nerves are broadcasted in technicolor. I guarantee I can rip you off that high horse you keep climbing back onto." I waved his collar at him. "You didn't fall, you pretentious bastard, you tripped. We all did. Welcome to how the other half lives. The only difference between you and me is I'm strong enough to get off the fucking ground."

"Do you really want to compare a man of faith being left behind, to..." his voice trailed off.

"To what? What were you about to say? Say it! No reason to start holding punches now."

"I was going to say an atheist," he grumbled.

I scoffed and laughed a little. "Oh, I thought you were going to call me a whore or something, which, by the way, I'm not." I paused, wondering what his definition of a whore would be, but let it go, since my definition should have been all that mattered. "Anyway, I'm not an atheist either."

His eyes darted to mine. "Not now, you mean?"

"Not before either. I didn't believe in the principles guiding religion as a political purpose instead of an individual prerogative, but yes, I am, and always have been, part of the mustard seed club."

Priest came at me so fast I almost defended myself. At the last second, I surmised that he was going to kiss me and stopped, which was a little surprising to me. However, he did neither. His hands cupped my face and he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered some fandangled Latin crap. I relaxed and let him do his blessing as he saw fit.

When he moved away, I couldn't help but smile.

"What's so funny? I can still bless you. I told you I can't just hang up who I am."

I smirked, wondering if I should tell him I might have preferred the kiss over the blessing, but decided that I didn't even want to admit that to myself.

"I know, Priest." I rubbed my face where he had touched me, to rid myself of any thoughts about him before they manifested into something more. As I pulled my hands through my hair, my near skull crack must have revealed itself. I really needed to start parting my hair differently.

"How did you...?" His eyes ballooned as if he suddenly understood what I meant about being resistant to pain. His jaw dropped and I think if Garrett had been there at that moment, he would have added murder to his list of broken commandments. As it was, his hands balled into fists, making the knuckles go white.

Then all at once he was calm again. He reached over to me again, and I rolled my eyes at the impending blessing. Instead, this time he kissed my cheek. "I'm so sorry, Lenore," he whispered while my ear was still near his lips. He pulled back and caressed my cheek with his thumb. "Please forgive me. I'm so... no, there is no excuse. I will never raise my hand to you again, and, God forbid, when I do, I will cut it off."

It should have been a beautiful sentiment, but it made me smile. "It's okay, Priest. I should have known better than to sully the Lord's name to a sobering priest. Apocalypse or no, you have to draw a line somewhere too."

His face turned ashen and he took in a deep breath. "I didn't slap you for the vanity, Lenore. I slapped you for calling me nuts." His eyes danced over mine and I could sense a certain shame in what he was saying, but at the same time, his resolve to defend his sanity was just barely beaten by his determination not to hurt me again.

I took in a deep breath and touched his cheek the way he had touched mine. "Okay, Priest, I won't ever call you crazy again, if..." I dug in my pocket and pulled out a small box that might have held earrings at one time. "If you wear my ugly noddle art instead of your white trim." To my relief he smiled.