Friday - Communion and Confession
Feb. 24th, 2006 01:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking again about Patty, and an additional reason that my cutting her off feels like an abandonment. You see, I am her minister.
Some years ago, I got bored on my lunch break so I went searching the web for distractions. On a lark, I visited the website for the Universal Life Church, famous for the fact that they will ordain anyone at any time, regardless your beliefs. In five minutes, I became an ordained minister. Technically speaking, I can legally perform weddings, or I could if I had any idea of how to go about it and what paperwork to file. No one has taken me up on my offers to perform a wedding yet, much to my relief, in large part because I play it safe and only make the suggestion to known commitment-phobes.
The following Saturday night, Patty was over at my apartment. I don't recall if we went out that night, I think we just sat out on my back porch drinking and talking. The evening progressed and I got tipsier and tipsier. I told Patty about my becoming ordained that week, and showed her the certificate I printed out from the website.
"Okay," she said, "So you're a minister now."
"Exactly. Your minister. You know what this means, don't you?" I asked her, rising to my unsteady feet to make a proclamation.
"Nu-uh. What?"
"These sessions we have here will no longer be about drinking and shooting the bull," I said, "From here on out, we can call this Communion and Confession."
Ex-Catholic that Patty is, she loved it. The description was a perfect fit for our Saturday nights. I, as the minister, provided the communion (vodka and orange juice for Patty, rum and diet Coke for myself), and Patty would pour out her heart to me while I nodded sympathetically and gave advice that she would never take. Sometimes we would go out to a club or a bar, but mostly it was my patio and my booze. Occasionally, we had "sacraments." Patty liked to smoke her sacraments.
In the early days of our friendship, she wasn't that needy. There was more give and take to it, and less me doing all of the giving and her simply taking. I'm not sure when it got so lopsided; it was a slow transition. I always knew she was damaged goods, but she was fun and I didn't mind. I've always had a soft spot for slightly damaged people.
Patty would even introduce me to people as her minister sometimes, particularly if we were both kind of drunk and if I was dressed in a low cut blouse or a very short skirt. They always looked skeptical.
"Lemme know if you ever wanna get married, okay?" I would say with the beaming smile of a happy drunk, "I can do the ceremony for you and I work for cheap." Like I said, no one has ever taken me up on this offer.
It's been awhile since we had communion and confession together. There is a half empty bottle of vodka in my kitchen that I have no use for; I bought it for Patty, and neither Jeff and I drink the stuff. For that matter, the bottle of rum has not been touched for a long time, either. The two bottles sit next to each other in the cabinet, collecting dust. I look at them standing together like a pair of friends, their labels turned ever so slightly toward each other as if they were in some distilled conversation, and I can't help but feel a little bittersweet.
Some years ago, I got bored on my lunch break so I went searching the web for distractions. On a lark, I visited the website for the Universal Life Church, famous for the fact that they will ordain anyone at any time, regardless your beliefs. In five minutes, I became an ordained minister. Technically speaking, I can legally perform weddings, or I could if I had any idea of how to go about it and what paperwork to file. No one has taken me up on my offers to perform a wedding yet, much to my relief, in large part because I play it safe and only make the suggestion to known commitment-phobes.
The following Saturday night, Patty was over at my apartment. I don't recall if we went out that night, I think we just sat out on my back porch drinking and talking. The evening progressed and I got tipsier and tipsier. I told Patty about my becoming ordained that week, and showed her the certificate I printed out from the website.
"Okay," she said, "So you're a minister now."
"Exactly. Your minister. You know what this means, don't you?" I asked her, rising to my unsteady feet to make a proclamation.
"Nu-uh. What?"
"These sessions we have here will no longer be about drinking and shooting the bull," I said, "From here on out, we can call this Communion and Confession."
Ex-Catholic that Patty is, she loved it. The description was a perfect fit for our Saturday nights. I, as the minister, provided the communion (vodka and orange juice for Patty, rum and diet Coke for myself), and Patty would pour out her heart to me while I nodded sympathetically and gave advice that she would never take. Sometimes we would go out to a club or a bar, but mostly it was my patio and my booze. Occasionally, we had "sacraments." Patty liked to smoke her sacraments.
In the early days of our friendship, she wasn't that needy. There was more give and take to it, and less me doing all of the giving and her simply taking. I'm not sure when it got so lopsided; it was a slow transition. I always knew she was damaged goods, but she was fun and I didn't mind. I've always had a soft spot for slightly damaged people.
Patty would even introduce me to people as her minister sometimes, particularly if we were both kind of drunk and if I was dressed in a low cut blouse or a very short skirt. They always looked skeptical.
"Lemme know if you ever wanna get married, okay?" I would say with the beaming smile of a happy drunk, "I can do the ceremony for you and I work for cheap." Like I said, no one has ever taken me up on this offer.
It's been awhile since we had communion and confession together. There is a half empty bottle of vodka in my kitchen that I have no use for; I bought it for Patty, and neither Jeff and I drink the stuff. For that matter, the bottle of rum has not been touched for a long time, either. The two bottles sit next to each other in the cabinet, collecting dust. I look at them standing together like a pair of friends, their labels turned ever so slightly toward each other as if they were in some distilled conversation, and I can't help but feel a little bittersweet.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 08:52 pm (UTC)dont be so hard on yourself. things like this happen when you have kids (even if thats not the bottom line it still sounds okay)
no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 02:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 01:28 am (UTC)Sidenote- is there anything one can't do on the internet?
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 02:06 am (UTC)Now that you mention, no, not that I can think of.
Some things just aren't as good on line, though. For example, I still enjoy the in-the-flesh version of sex to the cyber version.