On the Plane

The airplane’s engines whined. My seatmate, Jane, was chatty, but I didn’t mind.

Jane looked to be in her mid-fifties. Her round face, framed by curly brown hair, and her intelligent eyes, framed by out-of-style glasses, reminded me of one of my college professors.

She’d been in Toronto for a conference. So had I, I told her.

“And what do you do for a living?” she asked.

“I work in public health,” I said. “Studying the effects of medical marijuana.”

Intrigued, she asked me to elaborate. I smiled. My line of work was a nice litmus test when meeting new people. Either they were curious and interested, or they thought my “job” was an excuse to smoke weed and never grow up.

“What conference were you attending?” I asked her.

“The Parliament of World Religions,” Jane said, smiling. “I’m a Catholic priest.”

I gaped, and she laughed. “I get that reaction a lot.”

“Wow,” I said. “I thought women couldn’t be…”

“Priests?” she asked. “That’s a subject of much debate. We are ordained in apostolic succession, but I won’t bore you with the details. There are more than 100 of us now.”

I sat, awed.

“I’m Catholic, too,” I found myself saying. “Or, I was.”

“You left the church?”

“Five years ago.”

She said nothing. It was not a judgmental nothing. It was a considerate nothing.

Suddenly, I felt like I could tell her why I left. That maybe she was the only person I could tell.

“I had an abortion,” I said.

I was thirteen, I wanted to say, but didn’t.

He was my cousin, I didn’t say.

* * *

Aged 22, I sat quietly in the pew. I had come alone that Sunday, looking for a church to call home in my new city.

The elderly priest looked as cheerful as someone who’s been constipated for 75 years. I stifled a giggle.

Then he started talking about saving our unborn children from murder, and our young women from sin. Our holy obligation, he said. Donations would benefit Priests for Life.

Ushers appeared in the aisles. I watched hands pass the object down the row. Several people placed cash or checks into it.

It was not a collection basket. It was a baby bottle.

I passed it like a hot potato.

When we stood for communion, I followed the others to the aisle. Instead of turning toward the altar, I walked out.

At the door, I turned to look at that rat-faced priest.

FUCK YOU, I wanted to scream, but didn’t.

YOU’RE WRONG, I didn’t say.

* * *

“Interestingly, the Bible never prohibits abortion,” Jane said. “Nor birth control. How many Catholics do you suppose use birth control?”

I snorted. “All of them.”

Jane’s laugh was like a cozy chair by a fireplace.

“Do you ever miss the church?” she asked.

An abrupt torrent of memories cut off my cynical reply.

I remembered gobbling donuts with my Sunday School friends after Mass, while our parents gabbed and drank coffee. The golden church, with its impossible ceilings, like a castle. How excited I’d been the first time I was allowed to stay up for Midnight Mass. How, in college, I’d wandered into the campus chapel when I felt homesick.

“What about you?” I blurted. “You could be a minister, in another denomination, with no debate. Why did you stay?”

She shrugged. “It’s my home. When your home is broken, you either move out, or you try to fix it.”

* * *

Mom had driven me 110 miles for the procedure. That night, she came into my bedroom to tuck me in, like she’d done when I was little.

She said nothing. Sat on my bed. Took my hand.

Thank you, Mom, I wanted to say, but didn’t.

I love you, I didn’t say.

I just held her and cried.

* * *

As the plane landed, Jane handed me her business card, hugged me, and told me to call her any time.

* * *

I took a breath, then hauled open the ornate door. The altar and pews glittered with Christmas decorations.

“Jane,” I said, smiling, “I’d like you to meet my mom.”

“What a pleasure!” said Jane, decked out in her professional vestments. “See you both after the service for coffee and donuts?”

We grinned assent, and took our seats.

I welled up suddenly.

“Thank you, Mom,” I said.

“For what?” she asked, surprised.

I laughed, shook my head and hugged her.

“I love you.”

Writing Prompt: "paradox"