First Confession!

“I’m not telling him that” I protested wildly at what my sister was saying. “But you have to Valerie; God has seen what you’ve done so if you don’t tell the priest you’ll have to go straight to hell”

No, not hell, anywhere but hell. The nuns were always banging on about hell in religion class. They say it’s under the ground and the devil watches every move I make. I didn’t like the idea of both god and the devil watching everything I do.
It spoils my fun having to worry about people watching me. It’s hard enough getting privacy in a house full of brothers and sisters without this to deal with.

“It can’t be true” I shouted trying to mask the nervousness in my voice. “You’re making it up”. My sister had lied before, why should I believe her now.

“I’m not, wait and see, you’ll be burning and then you’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me”.

“Will I?” trying my hardest not to cry I turned to another sister for reassurance while praying hell wouldn’t pull me down through the floorboards when I wasn’t looking. “I’m afraid so”. She answered me gravely. “You heard the stories the nuns tell in school. They wouldn’t lie. They’re married to God so they’re not allowed to”.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I sat there listening to my sisters laughter. What was I going to do now? How could god stand by and let this happen? He was supposed to love me no matter what I did. Surely he’ll understand that I’m only seven and this is the first time I’ve wet the bed.

And now to add to my misery, I have to go to first confession and tell the priest I soaked the bed. I had just gotten used to the fact that people go into church, kneel in a dark box and tell the priest behind  the wire window all the bad things they’ve down. I didn’t think that included accidents in your sleep. And people don’t just confess just once, the nuns said we should go every week in order to cleanse our souls. What’s wrong with soap and water? Granted, I hate having a bath but that’s only because everyone in the house has a bath before I get to, and the water is always freezing, but I’d do it quicker than go to confession. I’m afraid of the dark and the priest might leave me in there for a long time, then how would I cope? I asked Daddy to come in with me but he said my sins are a secret only the priest can hear.

Huh! He doesn’t say that when he’s shouting at me to know who was jumping on the bed when it broke or who kicked the football through the kitchen window or who tied the cats leg to the dogs (I was playing the three legged race with them, or in their case the seven legged race. How was I supposed to know they’d attack each other)? Oh no, he can hear my sins then because he’s nosy like that. Then he’ll dish out punishment and believe me, it’s not three hail Marys. The only hail Marys heard are the ones I’m saying while he chases me around the house. I dread the day he catches me, the hail Marys won’t be enough to save me.

So for my first confession I’m on my own, left to suffer for my sins, abandoned at seven years of age. When the priest hears what I’ve done he’ll probably drag me up the church by the ear, tie me to the cross at the top of the altar and let everyone see what a pissy bed looks like. Suddenly hell doesn’t seem so bad.