Don't make me pray

First glance

When I was fourteen, I spent nearly a month in the hospital after breaking both of my legs and having them casted up to my groin. If you think a Brazilian wax is painful, it's because you've never had a cast up to your groin. I guarantee the sensation is entirely unpleasant and painful. Furthermore, when I had the cast removed, my skin was peeling and strange. The lack of light in those places allowed for it. They kept me immobile for three months and then an additional three months for rehabilitation. It was a tough year. It's not enjoyable to have someone bathe you.

I like to think that some aspects of my life unfolded from that experience, not only due to my two broken legs but the reason behind them.

On that night, I just wanted to hop the fence and go to the arcade, play with my friends. But I couldn't leave after 9; it was impossible. I was a girl. Besides, my home was not typical. I had neither a father nor a mother. On the contrary, I had 34 surrogate mothers, one Bishop, and one priest as my family. My home was a convent. From the day of my birth, I was left in a basket at the convent's door during a rainy winter night. I didn't end up in an orphanage, nor did I need to go through multiple foster homes. I was adopted by everyone in the convent, and they became my family. There was no orphanage in Del Rey; the nearest one was a 26-hour drive away. I was on the verge of hypothermia and close to giving up when they welcomed me into the convent's infirmary.

From then on, I was raised and educated there. Even in a convent, I didn't develop a vocation for religion, except for my faith in God, people, and myself. I believe that my experience of being cared for by so many people nurtured my generous heart and my desire to care for others. It was the beginning of my journey to become a nurse.

I didn't want to be a doctor or pursue any other path in the healthcare field; I just wanted to be a nurse. This remained my dream until I was 22 years old, when I graduated with a nursing degree in hand. My family celebrated my success with great enthusiasm, as if they were all graduating with me. It was one of the best days of my life, a day that represented not only my graduation but my personal growth. However, even after graduating, I continued to live in the convent, in my little room. I'm the one who stays in the infirmary every afternoon, and in the morning, I go to town for my shift. When I return, I take care of things here.

But I can't ignore that caring comes with a specific cost beyond human care: the cost of resources. That's why I was standing in front of Father Ivan to discuss it. We had a low supply of some medications, and one, in particular, worried me.

Ivan Malone II was the priest who, in addition to coordinating the convent with the Mother Superior, had been taking care of the Del Rey parish for 34 years. I wasn't even thinking of being born when he took on that responsibility. He was always calm and kind, with white hair and a wrinkled face. His voice had the power to embarrass me, even though most people called me "Mad" (short for Madeleine).

"Madeleine," I stood there; he calling me by my full name meant he was getting serious. It made me feel self-conscious. It could be years, and I would still feel uneasy when he said my name that way, especially considering that most people called me "Mad."

"We can send a letter and make the request; Sister Cristina needs that medicine for her chemotherapy. Chemotherapy is necessary; I know she will improve after the treatment and won't even need radiation therapy. I understand that resources are limited, especially this time of year, but it's essential."

"Dear," I shook my head.

"I can't arrange anything else at the hospital with the staff, and that worries me," he got up and moved closer to the window. His white hair and wrinkled face were always calm and kind. I sighed, inwardly agonizing and waiting for him to say something.

Cristina was one of the girls; I called them all girls, my girls, even if they were two or even four times older than me. They were and always would be. Cristina took care of the kitchen, always made improvements in the lower part of Del Rey, and she made the best vegetable stew I ever had, along with a smile that she tried to maintain after discovering a lump in her left breast.

"I need you to take care of things. We have what we need for the end of the month, don't we?" He looked at me, and I nodded. "Great, we'll manage for the next month; I'll do my best."

"I'll try something; it's just two more months," I looked at the clock on the table. "I know we're going through some tough times here..."

"Madeleine," he cut me off. "We've always overcome difficulties; we'll overcome this time too."

"I'm here to help."

"You don't have to do what you did last month. You need to have something for yourself, don't you think?"

"I learned from an early age what it means to help. I think it's only fair to help with things here; this is my home. How do you think I'd take a warm bath at night without electricity? No."

"You're too stubborn, girl," he chuckled. However, knocks on the door interrupted me. Father Ivan looked at the clock now, then at me, and the door creaked between us.

"Father Ivan," he raised his gaze, his voice loud, making me move and turn around. When I turned, I smiled at a tall, slim man. But I stopped smiling when I saw someone behind that man. I stood still, static, my eyes more focused on the tall man, who seemed more like a wall.

"It's great that you're up," I shifted my gaze, looking at Father Ivan. Who are they?

"Sorry for our delay, Father. We were taking care of some details. Mr. Barrete is more than ready now, isn't he?"

Who is Mr. Barrete? Who are these two?

"Yes, yes," I felt out of place. The tall man continued to stare at me; his eyes were a lighter brown, and his face was firm and strong. I swallowed the lump in my throat and averted my gaze. That's when I noticed the clerical collar. I opened and closed my mouth, with a question mark in my head, which grew when the man moved closer. He grew even bigger, with large arms and an even larger torso. His dark brown hair was tall and broad, so much so that I wondered if I had ever seen anyone so tall with such a strong face.

"Are you a priest?" my voice involuntarily spoke.

"Madeleine?!" I was completely shocked. "Can you come back later to talk? I need to sort some things out."

I looked at him and then at the two men. The slim one looked serious, but the other one stared at me, seeming to notice.

Who is he?!

"Of course, I'm sorry, I'll go,"

I moved, grabbing my folder. "I apologize for my rudeness."

"This is our new temporary companion; he'll be staying here. He's a priest from New York who came to complete a project during his sabbatical," I looked at the man.

"Pleasure to meet you," I approached and extended my hand toward the slimmer man with dark hair and the taller one who lowered his gaze, looked at me, and at my extended hand. After a few seconds, he took my hand. The handshake was firm; his fingers were long, the hand, warm. I found myself feeling too much, which made me withdraw my delicate hand from his grip. "Well, I'll be going," I looked at Father Ivan, sighing. "I'll be downstairs. Excuse me."

"Entirely," the man's voice sounded grave. I found myself looking at him; the collar of his shirt was neatly placed, his neck had high, tense veins.

My two states of mind manifested—one rational.

He's a priest, Madeleine!

And the other showed a bit of boldness.

What a blessing from God, huh!

Thinking that, I hurried out of the room as quickly as I could to avoid causing any trouble, giving a little chuckle.

- - - - - - -

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