I entered the chapel that Monday morning, after my encounter with my boyfriend, Kevin. He had touched me, and worse, I had liked it. It was different than when I had done it to myself, though I felt guilty about both things. I felt the extreme need to talk to someone, and Father Malone never criticized me or condescended me. He had always been open, friendly, and comforting, and that was what I needed. The church was empty, and I saw Father Malone at the altar, kneeling. My footsteps didn't seem to disturb him as he continued his prayer. I was almost to the front pew when he rose and turned to face me. Father Malone was in his thirties, and looked relatively young. He had a caring, innocent face, and deep brown eyes. He smiled a caring smile, and I suddenly felt something horrid. I felt the same feeling I had when Kevin had touched me, only stronger. He looked at me, concerned. Why aren't you in school today? he asked. I stuttered and spat out, The ice on the roads is still!
bad. He nodded and walked closer to me. Why did you risk your health to come here? He reached a hand out and grasped my shoulder. I felt a tingle that shot through my body at his touch. Ineeded to talk to someone c-can I... can I get confession? He gave my shoulder a light squeeze, and said, Sure, would you like it here or in the rectory? Face to face confession can be very powerful. Shocked at this, my wide eyed response came out automatically. The rectory would be fine. He took his hand off me, and turned, beckoning me. Follow me, he said. I eagerly followed him to the rectory, where he sat down on a leather couch and told me to have a seat beside him. So, what did you come all the way here to talk about? he asked, not persistently, but concernedly. Father I hesitated. He looked deep into my eyes. What is it? Don't be afraid to talk to me. I looked at him, not just his face, but his body up and down. His tall lanky frame, his dark hair, that part of his t!