Ash Wednesday

Because I couldn't let it go at just fifty words. LOL. This is the complete version. The first one is in quote.

Do enjoy.

“Dust you are, unto dust you...”

She watched the priest make the sign of the cross on the forehead of the toddler. Her eyes followed the long finger. First the ash tray, then faces. That finger did things to her body. Her middle still throbbed. Only a matter of time.

---

---

“Dust you are, unto dust you shall return.”

She watched him make the sign of the cross on the forehead of the toddler in the arms of his mother. Her eyes followed the long finger as it dipped into the ash try, before moving slowly to the faces in front of him. That finger had done things to her body. Her middle still throbbed from the pleasure. She closed her eyes and exhaled, fighting to control the moan bubbling up her throat, a satisfied smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

---

It all began this season, a year ago. Her mother had asked her to take the palm fronds to the church for burning in preparation for ash Wednesday and lent. She had gone on a Tuesday. Before that day, she avoided the church like a plague. She would go to services on Sundays whenever she felt like – which always caused a problem between her and her mother – and go home afterwards. She never lingered. According to her, church is full of drama. The more you keep your distance, the happier you are. But that Tuesday, she decided to oblige the woman and take them. She already nagged her all day.

St. Ambrose had fascinated her as a little girl. The way it curved in like a mosque with the little crown on top. By the far left stood a grotto, the statue of the blessed Mary right in the centre. She remembered going there every weekend to say the rosary. Whatever happened to her spiritual life. Besides it stood the Chapel, new and freshly painted, the handwork of the women’s organisation.

She walked past them towards a pavilion at the east side. She could see children not older than twelve running around. They were probably there for their catechism classes. She was wondering where the tutor was when she spotted him. Her first thought was that his fingers were too white against his dark skin and they needed cutting. She always noticed little things like that. It became normal when you’re an artist. Her paintings taught her to not ignore the tiniest of details. She shrugged. He was smiling. She smiled back.

“Is Mrs. Eugene your mum?”

She blinked then nodded.

“Sorry, you look just like her. Could you help me out? I need to get the kids in order before we start. We’re already fifteen minutes late.”

She nodded again and shook her head when he turned away. Exactly what you get when your mother is the president of the Lay Readers Association, she mused. And she couldn’t say no. He was a seminarian after all. She stayed till they settled down and were soon reciting verses from their handbooks. She continued to watch them sing and laugh when he said something funny. He would occasionally glance at her and smile. She would smile back, each time a little broader than before. He has a nice dentition, she thought.

“Come back next week?” he was saying when it was all over. “I could use a little help around here. The kids are a handful.”

“Okay,” she said.

She had nothing to lose and she enjoyed watching them recite. They smiled at each other again. The palm was forgotten.

---

The choir had begun to sing. That soulful song so typical of lent. She used to love it. The lyrics spoke to her but not today. Absentmindedly, she patted her stomach. Her first time with him was bittersweet. She didn’t know how she felt about it. She had heard girls whisper but never paid attention. She wasn’t that kind of girl, not until that day.

They had done it in the tiny room he occupied at the servant’s quarters behind the main residence of the parish priest. She had gone home with mixed feelings. She wasn’t sure if she would let him again. But she had, over and over. She was in love and she loved the feeling. He said he loved her too. She forgot everything her mother taught her, but everything had come crashing back the previous week.

“I can’t do this anymore. My spiritual year is over. I need to get back to the seminary by next weekend,” he had said to her.

He had this pained look on his face but she knew it was all fake. If he loved her, it wasn’t too late to leave the seminary. He could stay back and be with her. But no, he collected and now it was over for him. Well, he was about to get the shocker of his life.

Head straight, shoulders high, she stood and matched towards the alter. Time to tell the congregation about the tiny human growing in her womb.

_{Image Source}