The Sins of the Father

The Making of a Saint

"You must be cleansed!"

My mother shrieks as she scrubbed the remaining residue of skin off my back.

My ass cheeks tingled against the white, hard porcelain tub. The once clear bubbles are now tinted in various hues of vein-y red. The water sloshes over the tub and raises my billowing boxer shorts passed pale wrinkled knee caps.

I had long ago went numb from the pain. Willing myself to ignore the gurgling in her chest as she labored to clean the unseen filth. Her hands drag the floating brown beads and presses them roughly in the palm of redden prickling hands. She makes sure to close the stiff appendages around the tiny brown orbs.

"Thou shalt not commit fornication!. Father Tae said for you to say four hail Mary's!" Acid. The soap burns like hot acid upon my exposed flesh. I can imagine it sizzling the exposed skin like bacon fat on a hot stove.

I struggle to remain focus against the accumulating liquid blurring my vision. But, the continuous jolts forward, make it hard to concentrate on anything, except-

Father Tae.

The pompous ass, who secretly covets a stash of playboy books, in the upper left hand cabinet of his desk. Not to mention, that emergency flask of Jack Daniels he kept in the mirror of his office bathroom.

So between being drunk and jacking off to the playboy bunny of the month, he never had time for the altar boys. Yet, he always was able to forgive those sins in the confessional booth.

Fucking miracle.

Guilt had eaten away at me for weeks after having s*x with my high-school crush, Torrey Mahogany. A short, model thin mulatto. If the sultry singer Sade and actress Dorothy Dandridge had a child, she would be the beautiful end result.

I knew it was a mistake as shaky hands reached for the door handle of the confessional booth. It was like sitting in a small prison cell waiting to tell the police "It was me". The only difference was, Father wore a collar and the Blues wore a shiny badge.

"Say it!" My mom's voice sucked the life right out of me, spewing its remains, into my near empty vessel. "Thou shalt not commit fornication."

"Nor adultery." She sits back onto folded up legs, while her head tilts to the side as lines temporarily mar her forehead in curiosity. "Thou shalt not commit adultery mother. A word you should be well acquainted with by now.' So there shouldn't be that much confusion on either meaning of the two. With your having experiences of both. Right?" The thumping against my chest threatens to crack against my sternum. The force of blood rushed to my ears causing temporary deafness. And still I waited. Waited for the bitter words spewed from tongue to register inside the bittersweet rotting corpse of Beverly Morgan.

She dropped the scrub pad as if she were burnt, into the Red sea, that she, herself created. A sheen of water droplets encased her hand in a form fitting glove. A slight breeze, then the sickening sound of her hand connecting with the side of my jaw. The pain radiated around my eyes and neck. A thick, cool substance trickled from lip to chin. Salt mixing with iron causes my stomach to clench.

The red ink drops into the water, anxious to leave behind Its crimson spider web. The water rippled until mixing my essence into fantasy.

"You evil, little, obnoxious, ungrateful little bastard." Thin, cracked lips pulls against perfect, off white colored teeth.

"Was I that before or after you slept with Father Tae?" I smile. Regretting it instantly as the swollen skin pulls around a forming bruise.

"The devil made you speak those words? "Her hands shook as she held them balled up against the hem of her sun dress. "He planted those seeds in your mind. To speak against me! "

Her hands ball up into a fist to lash out. The hard thwack, produces the broken skin of her knuckles and a steady stream of blood to run down her arm. I try to to examine what I could, until our gazes lock. I am at once consumed in orbs of black. A black that has its own vortex. A black so vacant and yet so compelling, I find myself leaning into it.

"Someone whom god chose to parent you. God said honor your mother.' She sucks in a deep breath while leaning her head onto her shoulder. The movement causes her hair to cascade into her lap. Giving her an almost ethereal vibe. "I forgive you."

Bloody hands curl up in talons as they pluck against the sensitive flesh of my exposed chest. The water sloshes over the edge and onto her white sun dress, instantly plastering it against her waif like figure. Her fingers paint fiery lines down the side of my cheek and raises higher towards my eyes. I swiveled her around and planted her tight against the dampness of my chest.

"How dare you, unhand me you bastard! You ungrateful little bastard! All that I have done for you and this is how I am repaid?" My arms are becoming sore and tired from her wild bucking.

A pained cry wrenched from her mouth. One that seemed to drain the remaining energy from her body.

At that moment, I pitied her. Years of shame and hypocrisy had taken their toll on her temperament and mind. I cradled her dry, shaking form, against my painful dampened skin, until her wild bucking, to try and loose my hold on her, ceased.

Looking now down at the greying, blonde haired physique, I began to wonder: how could something so beautiful be capable of any evil? When did this vibrant being turn into this empty shell.

The community still fell for her charms and her commitment to doing "gods will". Their Beverly was a saint through and through. An angel sent to Earth to help the less fortunate.

I used to be fooled with her charades. Getting older has a way of opening your eyes to some truths. No matter how ugly the facts are or who it reveals. Truth is that Beverly Morgan wasn't the definition of a saint. Hell, even if Webster's Dictionary displayed her picture by the word, and god fathered her himself, it wouldn't make a difference.

Small mewling noises is what distracted me from my bitter mental rant. She smiled in her sleep. The first real one seen in years. For a brief moment, I didn't see her as the cold heart mother filled with dead men's bones. But the innocent haloed Beverly Morgan, that everyone seemed to fall in love with-

even if it were all an illusion.