Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

Too Many Issues, Not Drunk Enough To Deal With Them

"Speaking of the last three months..." Priest's voice rose enough to make the church sound hollow. "Would you like to talk about it?"

I turned back to face him. He was still sitting in his pew. I didn't bother giving him a fake smile. He knew the last three months weren't easy for me. A lot had happened; some good, some bad, and I was still deciding which was which. "Not really."

He nodded in understanding. "Would you like me to hold you? You could cry on my shoulder for as long as you like."

I chuckled, but it wasn't funny. It was the most honest offer of sympathy I could have ever hoped to receive. He wasn't insisting I sit through a session of psychoanalysis. He wasn't even suggesting I should cry or needed to cry, just that I could. It was permission to freely feel whatever I want to feel, without any purpose other than to feel it.

I didn't know how to respond to that offer. It was too simple to say "yes" or "no" to. The truth was, I didn't want to leave, and any excuse to stay might have appealed to me.

Priest raised his arm, inviting me back. I returned to the pew and sat beside him. I wasn't sure how to begin the process of being held. He guided me into position, leaning me back across his lap, while I positioned my feet on the pew. He wrapped his arms around me and drew me against his chest. I draped over his shoulder like a baby needing to be burped.

It all felt strange and forced, but I let my head relax on his shoulder. He whispered a blessing that even at close proximity sounded like gibberish.

I started to enjoy the simplicity of the embrace. It wasn't tender like a "there, there, please stop crying so you don't snot on my shirt" hug. It was strong and pressing like an "I missed you so much, don't ever leave again" hug.

I could smell my floral shampoo on Priest's hair. It was by no means a manly scent, but clean was appealing no matter what the undertone.

I realized that trying to cry wasn't going to work and I tried to push away, but he shifted his grip to press my head back to his shoulder. He wasn't going to let me go that easily.

I sighed and waited for him to tire of the experience, but he didn't seem to be in any rush. He was in essence hugging the pain out of me. It was an interesting and generous therapy. Unfortunately, it was also boring as hell.

The thought of that made me huff out a laugh. The vocalization of even that opposing emotion spurred me into an unexpected hyperventilation. The last three months were suddenly on my doorstep and I knew I was about to lose it. Not just sad tears, but a complete and utter breakdown rarely seen in adulthood. This was not going to be pretty.

I tried to pull away again. This was too much, too fast; I needed space to get control. Priest didn't budge.

I panicked, feeling suffocated by my surfacing emotions. I couldn't get away from them, or from Priest. I was about to have an emotional climax. I could feel it coming, and I knew it would feel good to let it out, but I was so afraid of it, scared of all the anger and fear I had swallowed over the last three months, and my unforeseen disappointment at it all ending.

I squeezed Priest's back and ripped at his shirt, warning him that I might explode if he let this continue. The tears were already rolling from my eyes, and my heaving breaths were so ragged that anyone listening would have been confused about the goal of my ascent.

Half in frustration, half in relief, I tumbled over the edge with a wail that even the most sympathetic listener would have been uncomfortable with. I clawed at Priest's back, screaming irascibly against his stilled body.

I sucked up stuttered breaths like a child unable to reconcile the consequences of being an emotional being. At one point, I even bit Priest's shoulder, for no other reason than to punish him for letting me put myself through such an overload.