Story by Chico Mahalo


            
Comfort


            


            The joke in those days was that Muriel Fink wasn't sexy, just
            alive. Very few people ever laughed at that joke.

            
To their credit. 

            

            
One night a priest caught her tying a necktie
            around her elbow.

            

            
"What are you doing that for?"
            he asked her.

            

            
"Gotta 40 pound monkey climbing up
            my back, Father," she told him.

            

            
"A monkey?"

            

            
"Yessir."

            

            
When she took a hypodermic needle from
            her purse, the priest's eyes suddenly gained weight. "Mary,
            Joseph and…" He moistened his lips. "What on earth
            are you…" He swallowed hard. Sore throat hard. "Please
            tell me you're a diabetic," he said.

            

            
Muriel stuck the needle in her arm. "Hardly,
            Father," she said, closing her eyes. Her head fell forward.
            Her chin rested on her chest. "I'm just about habitual…I
            tried to give it a chance…tried to go on and on and on…but
            I owe too much…I'm just too much in debt…"

            

            
"In debt to what? To whom?" the
            priest said.

            

            
Muriel tossed the needle into the trash
            can and put on a raincoat, the kind the Morton salt girl used
            to wear. "You name it," she said.

            

            
The priest sighed. Poured a scotch straight
            up. Loosened his collar with his index finger. Perspiration snuck
            out of every pore in his skin. "I'm…" he paused.
            "I…" He could no longer look Muriel in the eye.
            "I was under the impression that you had…" He
            took an aggressive pull of Chivas. "…more self control…"

            

            
Muriel rested her head against the back
            of the chair. Smiled unselfconsciously. And slightly seductively.
            "Father, is it a sin to say I want to run away?"

            

            
"What are you running away from?"

            

            
Muriel clucked her tongue. "Treachery…fraud…apostasy…"

            

            
The priest took a deep far eastern breath.
            Nodded compassionately. "We are all faced with the temptation
            of running away," he said. "I have often fantasized
            about running away from the Church." He stroked his collar.
            "But what good would it do? What would it solve?

            
What would God think of me if I just…
            ran away?" He paused. "He'd be very disappointed in
            me, wouldn't He?"

            

            
Muriel stared at the palms of her hands
            and nodded. Quietly. "Do you think He'd be disappointed
            in me if I ran away?" she said.

            

            
The priest swallowed soft. Ice-cream soft.
            "Yes, He'd be very disappointed…and so would I…"

            

            
The muscles in Muriel's face twitched.
            "What am I going to do?" she said.

            

            
"You can begin by forgiving yourself,"
            the priest said. "…loving yourself…being yourself…"

            

            
Muriel retrieved a silver cigarette case
            from her purse. Opened it. Fingered a Thai stick.

            
"You know you're talking to a Jewish
            girl, Father…"

            

            
The priest smiled. "We're all God's
            children…"

            

            
Muriel nodded. "I kind of expected
            you to say something like that," she said, lighting the
            Thai stick with a Bic banana and taking a long toke. As she blew
            the smoke out of the side of her mouth, she said, "Want
            some? You can pretend it's incense…"

            

            
The priest stood up. Awkwardly. "I'll
            pray for you," he said.

            

            
"Thank you, Father…I depend on
            the kindness of clergymen…"

            

            
As the priest walked to the door, Muriel
            said, "Father, are you sure I can't run away?"

            

            
The priest turned to face Muriel one last
            time. Said, "You have my blessing," and was gone before
            Muriel could drift off into another daydream about purgatory.

            

            
©Chico Mahalo 2008

            


            Chico Mahalo is a freelance
            writer and poet who spends the majority of his day attempting
            to reconcile differences between his conscious and subconscious.
            In his spare time he tries not to drift around his community
            as an invisible spirit or juggle more than a handful of moral
            dilemmas at a time. He currently resides between Eden and the
            open road. You can read more of him at http://thefork.wordpress.com/