Holy Communion

Aaron, Jean, Lydia and I are doing this thing where we write a fictional piece based on a theme. Our very first one is 'Holy Communion'. Here is mine:

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Holy Communion

I couldn’t help myself. Before I knew it, there I was in her bed-naked, sweaty, breathing heavily from the past few hours of pleasure.

I had a wife waiting at home thinking I was away on a business trip. She must never know the kind of business I was involved in. I tried to picture her face if I told her.

A tap on my shoulder roused me. The communion tray was being passed out. There was that face, smiling placidly, innocent and kind. How could I ever tell her? The pastor read the usual words. I fiddled with the jagged piece of cracker between my fingers. I brought the tiny cup to my nose. It smelt sweeter than usual.

With what I had done earlier, I would have thought that it would have been impossible to take communion. But it wasn’t. At least not for me. I admit to some hesitation at first, after which, I continued mechanically.

‘…do this in remembrance of me’. That was our cue. I looked at the cracker before I slipped it into my mouth. I had hoped it would do its trick. I had taken the biggest piece I could find. It seemed like I needed it to be bigger this time. I also took the fullest cup of juice, and apparently, the sweetest I had ever tasted. This was a good sign.

I chewed the cracker and drowned the remaining bits down with the juice. Then I waited. I waited to feel different, to feel somewhat better, somewhat cleansed.

It didn’t happen. The aftertaste of the cracker and the sweetness of the juice had left but I still felt the same. Maybe it hadn’t worked. She took my cup from me and passed it along. Maybe it didn’t work this way. I took her hand in mine and kissed her fingers before placing them on my lap. Maybe this wasn’t what Holy Communion was about. I sat there, deaf to the sermon.