“As we gather together here today, let us call to mind our sins.” These words were the first thing Mrs. Reiss heard as she opened the doors of the Basilica. She had entered through the side doors closest to the parking deck. She never came in that way, but always walked through the large front doors, then up the center aisle to her seat 35 pews up, 20 from the front at the right end of the left section. This spot had been her place for years. Even when they removed two of the pews behind her to make room for the “handicapped” section, she stayed her place.

But now she was late, feeling slightly feverish, damp, cold, and shaken up. She had taken a nap earlier in the afternoon but overslept a half hour. To make matters worse, the snow had begun to fall early, making the roads more difficult than usual. On the way over to Mass, she had lightly rear-ended a young man in what seemed to be a new car. While no paint had been lost, nor was either car dented, the man who had been hit seemed rather angry, cursing quite a bit until he saw her. Then, much to her gratitude, he regained his civility and after asking if she was okay, said that there was no need to exchange any information. She remained calm through it all, not bothering to get out of her car even to look at the point of impact. She figured she would play up her frailness so the guy would just let her be. It worked.

Still, she was shaken, at least a little bit. She would have barely made it on time to Mass had she not been involved with the other car, but now she was over ten minutes late. Luckily for her it was Advent and the lighting of the candle, which started the service, gave her a few added minutes. At least she wasn’t so late that she had to worry about missing the Gospel, the official cut-off time to attend Mass and still have it be valid. The nuns told her that in fourth grade and she never forgot it. With everyone now standing and the majority of them looking at their books, she quickly found a place to sit and quickly found out that she hated it.

She was now located five rows behind the handicapped section, and since she was at the furthest left point of the seating, only a few people were around her. A young couple sat one row in front of her at the other end of the pew, and behind her, a little to the right, sat Tommy Stephens, a man she and her husband had known for years though not with deep intimacy. The handicapped section was empty on her half of the Church. She was grateful, for she was not very tall and wanted to see all that was ahead of her.

Just as the opening prayer was ending, she took off her damp overcoat and set it beside her. In unison with the entire congregation, she sat down at the start of the first reading. Her mind, she realized, was spinning a thousand miles an hour. The entire Church seemed different from this new point inside of it. She didn’t like it, not one bit. If that weren’t enough, the boy had his arm stretched across the back of the girl as if... as if he were on some sort of date! Where did he think he was? She grew more and more angry as the reading continued.

It reminded her of when she and her husband, James, would come to Mass when they were younger. While he was not a cold man, he did not hold her hand at all during services. Mass, he said, was time to be focused on God, not on anything else. Over time, she agreed and accepted it like so many other things. The entire congregation saying the responsorial psalm pulled her out of her daze. She searched for a missal, opened the book and quickly hunted for the page. She couldn’t find it. However, she recognized the refrain and said it along with the people, “If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts.”

Much to her surprise, she had missed most of the prayer and was only able to join in one response before it was over. She felt hot and subtly touched her hand to her forehead to see if she had a fever. No. She felt nothing abnormal, though she knew doing such a thing was almost pointless. She did, however, feel herself beginning to perspire a bit more. Maybe it was because of the shock of the accident. Was she near a heating vent? She closed her eyes, just for a moment, just for a moment, trying desperately to collect her senses. What was wrong with her? Oh, God, please don’t let her be getting the flu, not at her age!! But this wasn’t like the flu. She had gotten it before and her bones ached for a while before it kicked in and overtook her. A cold always started with sneezing. This was something she had not felt before.

When she opened her eyes, she realized to her horror that everyone else was standing. Damn it! She had missed the entire second reading and the gospel acclimation. She bolted up from her seat without a second thought and stared straight ahead. A few seconds later, Tommy moved to stand behind her and asked, “Is everything alright, Ann? You seem a little out of sorts.” This whisper into her right ear gave her a cold feeling, the unique one reserved for utter embarrassment. Giving only a half a turn and closing her eyes, she said very deliberately and quietly, “No dear, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Really. Thank you, though,” she said in the same manner.

“Alright, well, I’ll be here if you need me,” he said.

She placed her right hand on his and ended the conversation with a smile.

The Gospel was still going on. They must be using the long form, she thought. Still, she shifted her gaze from the priest to her hands, to the young couple, and then to the pew in front of them. There, a little way to the right, was a person somewhat androgynous, sitting with a dog, also of an indistinguishable breed, though it looked a little bit like a golden lab. When did they come in? Where did they come from? What were they doing in her Church and being so disrespectful?

Suddenly, the congregation sat down. She snapped into the outside world when she heard Tommy say, “Praise to You, Lord Jesus Christ,” marking the conclusion of the Gospel and signaling for everybody to sit down for the sermon. She wanted to get up and find a worker and have them escort the person and their animal out! It was then she realized two things: one, that getting up would cause more attention than she wished, and two, she wasn’t sure she could get up and not fall down. Though she held her posture solid and even stoic, she was aware that something was wrong. Asking Tom for help was not an option. He was a nice man, but, no, he just wasn’t what she needed.... and she knew very well what she needed at this moment. It was her husband, James.

Again, she closed her eyes and thought. She missed him. She was sure that if he were here he would have it all under control. That was his way and she grew to lean on it. He was not a large man, but solid and with a very firm manner that gave her a sense of security she had lost with his death. He would have awoken her in time. He would have gotten her here on time. He would have had no problem asking the man and his dog to leave. He would be there for her now that she felt sick, driving her home after Communion. He would have done that without her saying a word, without asking.

She opened her eyes and looked at the person with the dog. She could only see the leash held in their hand. Was it a man or a woman? It was so hard to tell. James used to make jokes about the gays that came into the Basilica over the decade before he died. The men were far prettier than the women. Many of them had a harsh look on their faces. She once overheard his joke to Tom that “all those girls needed was a night with a real man and you would see them in a dress and make-up in a day.” Still, this person just couldn’t be defined. The eyes were slightly masculine and blue, but the jaw was so soft. She could see no moustache, beard, or stubble, but that didn’t matter because that could go either way.

Every few minutes he would reach down and pet the dog while staring ahead at the priest. The face was so stoic. Nothing. An almost blank slate. Still, a DOG in Church?! What could be more disrespectful! But at least the man, if indeed it was a man, wasn’t wearing a hat. Wouldn’t that have been more disrespectful? Why wasn’t anyone doing anything about them?

Each thought made her think of James. He wasn’t buried from the Church, however. Somehow he had arranged for his funeral and burial to be done in Everett, Washington, where he grew up. She knew nothing of this until she was told by the local mortician. His body was to be embalmed and viewed here, but to be flown to Washington for his funeral Mass and burial. When she first heard of this, she was shocked but excused it because of how he died one summer day, June 22. It was, she remembered, the longest day of the year.

“Let us now rise and profess our faith to God and to each other,” a voice boomed, crashing through her dream state and she rose to her feet with everyone else at the exact same moment. Her lips muttered the words of the Nicene Creed, “We believe in One God, the Father, the Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, of all that is seen and unseen...” The rhythm of the words helped her regain her focus and she stared straight ahead at the raised platform where the reader was located. While she still felt feverish, she thought that things would improve over the next few minutes and all would subside.

By the time the prayer of the faithful had ended a few minutes later and she sat down, she felt fragile again. It was at moments like this when she truly felt her age. The theoretical man/hermaphrodite and the dog were still there, two rows in front of her, silent and still. Again, her mind wandered to James.

When they first got married, there was no talk of having a dog. They were both busy, she with her job as a teacher, his as an executive at the Brewery at the end of Hennippen. Neither of them came from wealth and worked hard to have a comfortable life. Then, after a few years, James brought home a German Shepherd puppy. She grew to love it over time as it became a loyal and beautiful dog. She put all her energy into raising it. All her energy...

Just then a girl came walking back down the center aisle from the altar. Oh, she must have been presenting the offertory gifts. She was handicapped, autistic to be exact. Following her about six feet behind was a woman. Mrs. Reiss recognized her as Mrs. Shipley. The woman walked sharply and evenly. Her face was full of weariness and strength. Mrs. Shipley’s gaze looked straight ahead and was bulletproof. It seemed to come from a type of strength that arises when the gaze of others has been upon you, judging you for many years.

At the moment that Mrs. Shipley went just out of view, something very thick and dark began to seep into Mrs. Reiss. Or rather, she was being drawn into it. It wasn’t a foreign emotion. Her terror came from wondering if she could handle what she knew would be coming that she could almost, but not quite, name. When one gets old, emotions and feelings become recognizable. One understands them and learns to accept them. But this was something else, something she could remember but not name.

She began to realize that she was on auto-pilot, going through the service without thinking, saying the responses when she was supposed to, kneeling and standing in unison with the congregation. She knew that Mrs. Shipley had a child, but not two. Not one that was... handicapped/autistic. Judging from the child’s walk and facial features, Mrs. Reiss surmised that the child was high to medium functioning. Judging from her face, the mother realized that her child would be with her always. Always. That the daughter was not high functioning enough to live in a half-way house, but not so severe as to be...

“Let us rise for the Lord’s prayer,” rang through the air and she snapped to attention, rising to her feet and saying the prayer. She stopped saying anything after, “forgive us our trespasses and lead us not into temptation.” She simply froze. The feeling had fully enveloped her in its darkness. A memory felt like it was cresting, but she managed to keep it at bay until someone suddenly called to her.

“Ann?” It was Tommy. He had come up behind her to give her the sign of peace. She turned to her right and saw him, his arm extended to shake her hand. “Peace be with you,” he said. She could not speak and repeat the statement back to him. Instead, she smiled, and bowed her head slightly in a form of acceptance and gratitude. His hands were large and calloused. They seemed to envelop hers. Still, his touch was gentle. She could see in his face that he had accepted her response.

As he returned to his seat, she saw behind him Mrs. Shipley and her child alone in their pew. The child alternated between tapping the pew in front of it and clinging to her mother’s hip. Mrs. Shipley stared ahead towards the altar and placed her hand on the child’s head, gently brushing it. Mrs. Reiss quickly turned around and saw the man with the dog still sitting there. The man bent down to pet the dog’s head, slowly and gently. The dog’s eyes half shut and it placed its head on its front paws as if to sleep.

“Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world. Have mercy on us.” These words seemed to fill every inch of the Basilica. She opened her mouth to try to speak, to pray along with everyone else, but she couldn’t. All around her the words kept coming. “Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world. Have mercy on us. Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world. Grant us peace.” With the end of that phrase, out of habit, she fell to her knees.

“Lord, I am not worthy to receive You, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” After a small prayer, the priest took communion and gave it to the people on the altar. The same was done with the wine in the chalice. As the priest and the deacon came down to distribute communion, Mrs. Reiss saw the man and his dog move. He got up quietly, the dog doing the same, and slowly left the church.

She sat in her pew, her knees no longer able to take the long ride of communion. In front of her, many pews up, she saw people standing and going to receive. She closed her eyes to pray, but couldn’t. All that she could see was the man and his dog, Mrs. Shipley and her child, and... James. She truly wished he was there now. He would take care of her, he would know what to do, he would take her home.

She began to fall back into memories, a stream like a waterfall that only those who live to an old age can understand. She saw him when they first met, tall and handsome. She remembered her wedding day and the smell of his face during their first dance. And the wedding night, the loss of her virginity and the strange feeling of loss afterward, even when he held her close as she tried to fall asleep. The moment she saw their first house and adjusting to being a wife. And then... and then the news...

She was taken from her thoughts by someone slamming down a kneeler that echoed throughout what seemed to be every inch of the church. She opened her eyes to see Mrs. Shipley and her daughter walking to communion. She watched them go up and receive, turn, and come back, the mother guiding her child along the way. It was then that a cold feeling began to overtake her; she knew it from somewhere in her past but couldn’t place it. She was too tired now to fight it. As the organist began to play a 20th century piece during meditation, the flood inside began.

She remembered the day she had gotten pregnant. Not the day she was told by the doctor - that was almost six weeks later - but the day. It was early April and the weather outside had finally turned from severe cold to a brief spell of Spring warmth, the type of day where one no longer needs to wear layer after layer of clothing and the sun truly feels warm again. It was in the afternoon and James had been working outside completing the log fence around the property. Every once in a while she would watch him digging the hole posts, carrying the wood three poles at a time. He looked so handsome and strong. “The strongest man in the world,” she thought. “I’m married to the strongest man in the world.” When he came in later in the afternoon and washed up, she called him into the bedroom, saying she needed help with something. She was there, naked, waiting for him. They made love with passion until night and as she fell asleep within the arms of the strongest man in the world, she felt something inside her like the smallest spark, and she knew she was with child.

The pregnancy seemed to go without much trouble in the beginning, at least nothing out of the ordinary. But she had almost miscarried once, the doctor then relegating her to bed rest for the rest of her term. Her mother was of no help. She despised James and said if they were to marry she would never speak to her again, a promise that was taken to her grave. James’ mother had died when he was younger. So it was he who took care of his pregnant, bed-ridden wife.

As the doctor had warned, the baby was born ahead of time, four weeks premature in December.... December 22, she now remembered. It was not that she had ever forgotten the date, she had just tucked it away somewhere. There was a good deal of touch and go for the first two months, but the baby girl, Rose, pulled through and everything seemed normal. Mrs. Reiss knew something was wrong, though. Against James’ wishes, she took the child to specialist after specialist. After three years of being told everything from the fact that she was fine to a late developer to even deaf, the real answer came one late summer afternoon from Dr. Feldman.

“Mrs. Reiss, I don’t really know how to tell you this, but it seems that your little girl is mentally handicapped. Her motor skills are severely damaged and she has little hope of getting any better. In fact, she will most likely get worse. I have seen cases like this before and...” it all began to fade. Her heart stopped and everything in the doctor’s room turned the most dazzling of colors, sharp and exact. Then a feeling welled up inside of her and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again the entire world seemed different, as if she had never seen it before.

“Mrs. Reiss... Mrs. Reiss, did you hear me?” asked the doctor.

She stared at him for a moment, this stranger in a lab coat who had just given her news that changed her entire life. “I’m sorry, doctor, I... I....” She grew silent but for reasons she could not tell, she did not wish to cry.

“Mrs. Reiss, I am sorry, I am. And I’ll be honest with you about your options,” he said.

“Options?” she quietly countered.

“Yes, options. Your daughter is going to need a great deal of help. I doubt she’ll be able to ever take care of herself in any real way. You can, if you choose, take care of her at your house. She will need constant attention and if you and your husband can work something out, that is fine. However, I would like to tell you of another option. You can place her in an institution.” At the vocalization of these words all turned black.

When James got the news, he was silent for a very long time. He drank the bottle of whiskey they kept in the pantry and fell asleep on the front porch. After that endless night of a silence that could split stone into pieces, a decision was made.

Rose was placed in an institution with children just like her. Mrs. Reiss didn’t want to do it, but James just couldn’t deal with his child not being... normal. They fought over this decision. They fought to the death, but he was stronger than her and won. He would take her to visit the child but would not leave the car. He just sat there, smoked his Lucky Strikes, and walked the grounds, drinking from the flask he kept in his jacket pocket.

Their marriage never recovered. Sex scared her and in time they slept in separate beds then finally separate bedrooms. He slept with other women. She knew it, the way every wife does, deep down. But she blamed herself and kept silent about it. In time, people stopped asking about Rose. James, for his part, took Mrs. Reiss up there every weekend.

Then James died suddenly. He was on his way to work one morning and he pulled his car over to the side of the road. It was there he died of a heart attack. No good-byes. No parting words, prayers, or absolutions. Just gone. Though they were separate in many ways, she missed him, his presence. She was the silent widow for almost fifteen years now.

The start of the organ snapped her again from her daze. Where was she? What day was it? Why was she standing? Mrs. Reiss had placed herself on auto-pilot and had followed the remainder of the Mass out of habit. She watched as the cross-bearer, followed by the altar-servers, lector and finally the priest walked by. Mass was over and she could remember none of it. She stared ahead trying to find some sort of center. She sat down and closed her eyes as if praying. She tried to pray, she truly did, but nothing came, nothing - only one last memory. That of the phone call.

She was alone in the house when the call came. It had been snowing for hours, an early Spring snowstorm that started exactly at noon. Even by Minneapolis standards, it hit hard. James had called saying they were letting everyone out early and that he’d be staying at a friend’s house since the ride home looked impossible. When she hung up the receiver, the house was still, and she busied herself with sewing a pair of pajamas for Rose. For some reason, in the middle of a stitch, she stopped. Something moved inside of her, the ghost of the feeling she had when she had conceived her daughter. She even swore she heard Rose’s voice, though she had never heard her speak a full word. She heard her say something, something faint but real. Mrs. Reiss closed her eyes and got a horrible chill. She felt nauseous and went into the bathroom to throw up. The cold porcelain on her knees felt comforting. After she had cleaned up, she grabbed a sweater and decided to call the house where Rose was. By the time she hit the bottom of the stairs, the phone was ringing.

The news was delivered calmly and passed through her like light through a prism. Her daughter was dead, through what they assumed was a heart condition. She had been given breakfast but was barely responsive. Then, an hour ago, she was found dead in her bed. They said they had been planning to call later this afternoon if her condition didn’t improve.

Mrs. Reiss remembered screaming, “No, no, my daughter! No!” and then, “My baby, I want to see my baby! I want my Rose!” Screaming, she ran out the door into the empty streets, screaming her daughter’s name into the air that was now a curtain of snow.

She remembered waking up in the hospital demanding to see her daughter. James had called the home and was having the body brought down to Samuel’s funeral home. She remembered seeing her dead daughter’s face for the first time and how she cried, weeping from a place inside her she never knew she had. She touched her daughter’s face and hair. She cried and cried for what seemed like lifetimes.

James, on the other hand, did not cry. Not once. Perhaps he did, but she never saw it. Maybe he simply wanted to appear strong. She hated him for that and never forgave him. It was he who demanded that Rose be put in the home, it was he who refused to talk about her, it was he who whored around, it was he who made his wife feel weak and dirty and alone!

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the man’s voice spoke. She turned to him with a start. “The Church will be getting ready for a concert this evening and we need everyone out as soon as possible, if you don’t mind.”

She stared at him. He was no more than 25 years old. Barely a man. She said nothing, but nodded. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him and he briskly walked away up to the front of the Church.

In a daze, she got up and headed to the back. She needed to go to confession, she needed to talk to a priest, she needed something. Mechanically blessing herself with Holy Water, she stopped for a moment, her racing mind stopping enough to look at the statue of Mary above the dome high above the main altar in the front of the Church. Mary. The mother of God. Mary...

She felt pulled as if by an invisible thread to the back of the church, to a small enclave where they kept a statue of Mary surrounded by votive lights. Slowly, almost without any sound, she walked toward it. She stopped at the entrance because she heard a voice. Peaking around the corner, she saw Mrs. Shipley holding her daughter’s hand, helping her light a candle. Mrs. Reiss stared at the scene.

The child seemed oblivious to the action, and her mother’s face softened for a moment. After lighting the candle, the mother blessed herself and the child and stayed silent in prayer, her head bowed. Mrs. Reiss took her gaze off of them and turned to face the front of the church. Within the silence that had enveloped her, a rage began to form, something red and almost animal like. She was too old for this. Why couldn’t she stop it? She became blind with rage to the point where she didn’t even remember seeing Mrs. Shipley and her daughter pass by her because the next time she looked into the space, it was empty.

Her body seemed to be detached from her. She knelt on the cushioned kneeler before the statue of Mary. It was made of white marble and seemed so calming. She was drawn to this place, this moment, but could not pray. How could she pray kneeling before a statue of the mother of God? She became furious, clasping her hands till she thought her bones would break. Her whole life seemed to pass by her closed eyes. She stopped and stared for a moment at the first sight of her daughter before continuing with the images.

The pictures stopped when the movie ended. Then, propelled by the wave upon the ocean within, she screamed, “Rose! Rose! Oh, my Rose!!” and began to cry, the world around her collapsing in its silence. She buried her face in her hands muttering, “Rose, oh my Rose....” again and again and again. Her soul was aching, her tears could not be stopped. She was unsure if they ever would be.

It was then that she felt a hand on her shoulder, soft and without threat. A voice said something, but it seemed distant. This time, no matter what it may say, she would not move.

Copyright 2005 Brimstone and Blue Productions

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