Dropped

I didn’t know I was a legend. Years after leaving Our Lady of Perpetual Help, I had no idea that the story of how I stuck it to Father Michael was still circulating among the students. It made its way back to me the summer after I graduated from high school, when Sarah Green’s youngest sister found me lifeguarding at the local pool. Apparently, it was the new way that seniors welcomed incoming freshmen: telling them how I took Communion from Father Michael and threw the Eucharist on the ground.

Or, how I threw the Eucharist on the ground and stomped on it.

Or, how I threw the Eucharist on the ground, stomped on it, and told Father Michael to go screw himself.

“Well?” Sarah’s little sister tensed her shoulders. “Is it true?”

I shrugged. “Eh.”

I tried to walk away, but she followed me and pressed again.

“Well,” I sighed, “most of that happened.”

But only one other person knew the full truth, and her name wasn’t preserved in infamy.

The day that everything fell apart at Our Lady of Perpetual Help was unusually hot. We only had two weeks left of school, but the early taste of summer was driving everyone a little batty. Claire Abbott showed up to school with an untucked shirt and rolled up skirt, and Father Michael yelled at her in front of the whole class before sending her to the bathroom to fix her uniform. Marsha Maple got detention for chomping on a piece of gum, but she slipped another piece into her mouth the moment Father Michael wasn’t looking. I gasped - I had never gotten detention, and I couldn’t imagine breaking the rules so brazenly after getting caught.

Nobody else seemed to notice Marsha because they were all pretending to ignore Sarah Green. Sarah never seemed to own a pencil for longer than a day and was asking everyone around her if she could borrow one. She got away with it again and again because whoever refused her tended to be the target of her next gossip. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was being on the brink of summer break, but no one was caving to her demands. Claire and Marsha rolled their eyes, but I nudged Sarah and passed her one of mine, knowing that I would never see it again. That was okay. I never gave her the ones I really liked - my pink ones, with ‘The Future is Female’ in purple bubble letters.

The sun streamed through the classroom windows, practically cooking everything in its path. The air in the room grew hot and stuffy, and it was much more interesting to watch the dust dancing in the golden sunlight than it was to listen to Father Michael lecture about the Catholic sacraments. Distraction in his class was dangerous, though, and Father Michael had a way of keeping everyone in line.

“Can anyone name the sacraments?” he asked. When no one raised their hand, he picked a victim. “Sarah. Name the seven sacraments.”

Sarah flinched. “Baptism, Communion, Confirmation, Marriage….” She trailed off. “Priesthood?”

“Holy Orders,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “not Priesthood. And the proper term is Eucharist, not Communion. Those are only five, Sarah. What are the others?”

Sarah blanched and slid down in her seat.

Father Michael sighed. “Can anyone else name the other sacraments?”

“Reconciliation,” I said, “and Anointing of the Sick.”

“Correct, Lucy,” said Father Michael, “but next time, raise your hand.” 

I bit my lip and felt my face flush.

He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote them on the board. “Now, how do we group these?” He turned around and pointed. “Can you tell us, Claire?”

“Sacraments of Initiation,” she said, completely unruffled about being cold called, “are Baptism, Eucharist, and Confirmation. Sacraments of Healing are Reconciliation and Anointing of the Sick. Sacraments of Service are Marriage and Holy Orders.”

“Correct.” He sounded bored. He marked them on the board and gestured to Claire again. “Which sacraments can happen multiple times?”

“Eucharist, Reconciliation, and Anointing of the Sick. Marriage, too, if the first spouse dies and there’s no divorce.”

Father Michael clicked his tongue. “Technically true,” he said, although he looked disappointed in how thoroughly Claire answered him.

“Father?” Sarah raised her hand partway. “Would it be possible for someone to experience all seven sacraments? Like, what if someone got married and their spouse died - could they join the priesthood or become a nun?”

We glanced at each other. None of us had thought of that before, and we started to whisper questions back and forth. It was a good question in a lesson where good questions were hard to come by. Unfortunately, Father Michael didn’t appreciate good questions.

“Sarah Green!” He banged his fist on the table, we went silent. “Do not interrupt the class!”

Sarah went bright red. She sniffled a little and blinked a lot, but Father Michael ignored her. “Now - Marsha? Which sacrament is the most important?”

Marsha looked startled. “Umm, Baptism? Because that’s how we join the Church?”

He shook his head, his eyes glittering. “No, that’s wrong. Gina? Which sacrament is the most important?”

Gina swallowed hard. “Reconciliation? Because that’s how we experience God’s forgiveness?”

He shook his head again, looking more and more delighted. “No, that’s also wrong. Doesn’t anyone know which sacrament is the most important?”

I raised my hand. “Eucharist,” I said.

Father Michael looked over. “Correct, Lucy, but you must wait until I call on you.”

Despite the sweat collecting on the back of my neck, a shiver went down my spine. It was the closest I had ever gotten to being in trouble with Father Michael. My stomach felt queasy from this brush with delinquency, but there was also an uneasy confusion - was I really getting into trouble from answering questions correctly?

Claire raised her hand and smirked. “Father Michael? Is Eucharist the most important because it’s a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice, or is it because we’re receiving His Body and Blood?”

He glared at her. “It is both - but Claire, you will also remember to wait until you are called.” 

But Claire didn’t look away, and the two scowled at each other until, miracle of miracles, the bell rang.

Our class filed into the chapel behind the younger grades. Unlike the classrooms, the chapel had air conditioning, but there were so many students in the pews that it didn’t seem to matter. I sat down between Sarah Green and Claire Abbott and felt my stomach rumble. Whoever thought it was a good idea to make us sit through Mass before we got to eat lunch was truly cruel.

Father Michael was the celebrant. Our misbehavior must have been on his mind, because his homily was about obedience - obedience of faith and the obedience of wives. I gritted my teeth to keep from rolling my eyes, but judging from the squirming around me, I was the only one paying attention. Sarah was playing with a loose thread on the hem of her skirt, and Claire was counting the ceiling tiles while gnawing on a piece of gum. I felt sweat beading on my forehead and my stomach pinching from hunger. Combined with the dictatorship that passed for Religion class this morning, I was almost at the end of my rope.

Obedience of wives, I thought, feeling the anger burn inside my chest. What gives you the right to talk about women or marriage?

I was still fuming when it was time for Communion. I had no desire to come face-to-face with Father Michael, but it was inevitable - everyone lined up for Communion, even if you weren’t receiving it that day.

Sarah was in front of me. She crossed her arms and shook her head. She walked away without receiving Communion, and I stepped up.

“The Body of Christ,” Father Michael said solemnly, raising the round wafer.

“Amen,” I said, reaching out with my cupped hands.

All I remember in that split second was wanting to get away from Father Michael as fast as I could. After yelling at me for giving correct answers, after trying to tell us what our roles were, after implying that we weren’t living up to who we were supposed to be - I couldn’t stand being next to him for a second longer. I turned and walked away, and I was a little past the altar when I tried to eat the host.

It was something that I had done hundreds of times - receive Communion, then eat it while walking back to my pew. It was something that I did without thinking, something that I had never really thought about. But that day, it all went wrong. Some wires got crossed, or maybe something misfired in my brain, because when I went to eat the wafer, I fumbled. I floundered. As if in slow motion, I saw the host slip out of my fingers and fall down, down, until it hit the floor.

I stood frozen in my spot, dumbfounded by what just happened. I watched it land on its edge and, horror of horrors, roll away from me.

I broke out of line and chased the wafer down, my heart beating like a hammer. My feet caught up with it first, though, and before I could grab it, I accidentally stepped on it. I heard the snap before I saw the two pieces laying on the floor like a cheap, broken trinket. With a fresh wave of panic washing over me, I snatched them up with shaking hands.

I bolted back into the Communion line with the host in my sweaty palm and followed Sarah back to our pew. She had her back to me the whole time, and by some miracle, she hadn’t noticed the kerfuffle behind her. Once I was safely in my seat, I sank onto the fake leather kneelers and tried to remember how to breathe.

What…what just happened?

My stomach lurched as my brain slowly made sense of the situation.

I dropped the Body of Christ….

Claire’s voice from that morning rang in my head: The most important sacrament…symbol of Christ’s sacrifice…His Body and Blood….

And not only did I drop it, I stepped on it.

As I tried to wrap my head around it, I heard an odd choking sound. I looked up to see Claire Abbott kneeling next to me and shaking with barely-contained laughter. She had slapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from bursting, but the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes showed that her self-control was tenuous at best.

Of course. Claire stood behind me in the Communion line. She had seen the whole thing.

Shame burned my face as I stared at the tiled flooring. My arms and legs felt numb. This wasn’t something Father Michael taught us about in Religion class. This was something he would have yelled at us for interrupting class with - and here I was, feeling like the biggest troublemaker. This was way beyond chewing gum or speaking out of turn. I didn’t break a school rule - I defiled a religious sacrament.

It’s…kind of funny though? A tiny voice whispered in my head. 

It was quickly drowned out by another: No, it’s not. You corrupted the symbol of His love and sacrifice.

Tears were prickling my eyes and my head was spinning when something squeezed my hand. I looked up to see Claire reaching over, her hand on mine. She was snickering, yes, but…it didn’t seem mean-spirited or cruel. Her eyes were kind - about to cry from laughing too hard, yes, but still kind. The look on her face was a little amused, a little bewildered, but mostly sympathetic.

She thinks it’s funny, I thought, and my heart surged at the possibility of comfort.

She winked, and that broke the dam. The first giggle came out of me like a hiccup, and from there, I also had to press a fist over my mouth to keep quiet. We quickly realized that we couldn’t make eye contact and not laugh, so we sat next to each other without looking at one another. For the rest of Mass, one of my hands held Claire’s, and the other hand clutched the broken Eucharist.

When Mass was over, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I was ready to escape the chapel and run far, far away, but I’d settle on going to lunch. Before we could make our getaway, though, Father Michael stormed over.

“Lucy Pomme and Claire Abbott - come with me, immediately!”

I felt my stomach drop to my knees. The giggly solace I shared with Claire immediately disappeared. We followed Father Michael, still dressed in his green chasuble and white alb, into his office. He slammed the door behind us.

“Never,” he cried, making both of us jump, “in my years have I ever seen such outrageous behavior from two young ladies.” Droplets of spit were flying out of the corners of his mouth, but somehow, it wasn’t funny. “Laughing during Mass! Do you think that this is a carnival? Do you think that this is a party? This is serious - this is our religion - and I never thought I would see this level of disrespect from two young ladies -”

“I-I,” I started.

“Do not interrupt me!” he roared. “I am not interested in your excuses -”

“It was an accident!” I squeaked. I wished that I could melt into the floor.

“I said not to interrupt me!” His dark eyes flashed like onyx, hard and cold. “You will be suspended -” 

Suspended. The word hit me like a train. I never chewed gum in class or came to school with a messy uniform. I answered questions during lessons and took Communion each week. I had never gotten detention before. How could I be suspended?

My insides felt like they had been liquified. If I opened my mouth, I was afraid I would vomit my organs onto the floor.

“She said it was an accident!” yelled Claire. She balled her fists and stared directly into Father Michael’s eyes. Her face was flushed pink, and her chest was rising and falling quickly. “You don’t even ask us what happened, you just start yelling -”

“I will not be spoken to in such a way!”

All the strength left my knees and all the air was squeezed out of my lungs. The room seemed to be twirling like a merry-go-round, and I didn’t realize that I was crying until I felt hot tears streaming down my face.

Claire, though, wasn’t crying. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Father Michael, go fuck yourself.”

He stumbled backwards as if he were hit. He flailed and grabbed his desk, utter shock upon his face. Everything was silent for a few seconds, until -

“Expulsion, Claire Abbott. I will be calling your parents - both of your parents. Now!”

He led us to the principal’s office, where he made his indignant case about our scandalous behavior. We weren’t given the chance to defend ourselves. Our parents were called to come pick us up, and we waited for them in the hallway outside the office. We could hear the occasional phone call and the secretary typing away, but otherwise, it was quiet.

“Hey,” Claire whispered.

I looked up and wondered how she could look so calm in a moment like this.

“You still have the Eucharist?”

I opened my palm. It was a little soggy and damp, and it looked like it had been through hell, but I had both pieces.

“I was thinking,” she said, “that maybe you could say you’re sorry?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that he wants to hear from me.”

“No,” Claire said. “Not Father Michael. Him. Tell Him that it was an accident and that you’re sorry.”

I looked down at the mangled wafer in my hands and back up at Claire. I had forgotten about it in all the commotion, and I realized that Father Michael hadn’t even mentioned it. Did he not realize what had happened during Communion?

She smiled gently. “I think He would understand.”

The secretary poked her head out of the office door. “Claire Abbott? Your parents are here.”

Claire stood up and sighed. “See you someday, maybe,” she said with a small wave, and left.

I stared down at the host. I had some reservations about eating something that had rolled on the ground, but the thought of throwing it out seemed so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m really sorry. It was an accident. I don’t really know what happened - but I’m going to try really hard to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I hope you understand that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” I made the sign of the cross, and ate the wafer. I felt a little better - mostly relieved, but also lighter, somehow. Like I could be forgiven.

I was suspended for three days. After I begged and begged, my parents agreed that they wouldn’t send me back to that school. I didn’t return to finish the school year, and for the rest of high school, I went to the local public school instead. In the months after my last day at Our Lady of Perpetual Help, my family found another church to attend. By the time I graduated from high school, though, I had stopped going to Mass altogether.

I never heard from Claire Abbott ever again. In the years following high school, I would try to look her up online, but it was nearly impossible to tell which of the dozens of Claire Abbotts were mine. The last time I ran into Sarah Green, she swore that she heard Claire Abbot became a nun. I’m not sure that I believe it, but for everyone’s sake, I hope that rumor is true.