Novel In Progress, Excerpt, First Communion

Photography by Jamie Dedes

The Eucharist, also called Holy Communion or Lord’s Supper and other names, is a Christian sacrament commemorating, by consecrating bread and wine, the Last Supper, the final meal that Jesus Christ shared with his disciples before his arrest, and eventual crucifixion, when he gave them bread saying, “This is my body”, and wine saying, “This is my blood.”Wikipedia

“First Holy Communion,” an excerpt from And So Goes the World, a novel in progress by Jamie Dedes, all rights reserved. Much of this novel, including the following excerpt is set in Brooklyn, New York.

               

Second grade was notable as the time for First Holy Communion. All that fall and winter, I worked hard at catechism and made sure that I understood directions for participating in the ceremony and receiving the sacred Host. My mother bought me the requisite white communion dress, which in this case looked embarassingly like a wedding dress. The school required that all girls wear the same veil, which was to be purchased from the church. My mother didn’t like it, so she had a veil made of soft organza for me to wear after the ceremony for pictures. This served to intensify the wedding-dress effect and furthered my humiliation.

Spring arrived and so did the sacred day. My body didn’t seem to respect the solemnity of the occasion. I had a headache and a toothache. We walked to St. Pat’s, which was about eleven blocks from our apartment.  No breakfast first, of course, just a sip of water.  I looked forward to seeing the church.  The alter linens would be white-on-white with fine embroidery.  There would be enormous flower arrangements, many of which might even include red roses.  Our classes were large, usually about forty children in each.  There were four classes of children receiving First Holy Communion that Sunday, so the church would overflow with proud parents, grandparents and other relatives. 

I went to the school gym and took my place in line among the other girls.  The boys had their own line.  When we marched into church, the organist played “Mother Dear Oh Pray for Me,” and I was glad of this.  It was Mom’s favorite hymn, and I knew it would make her happy.

I focused on the mass, paying attention to every detail, every nuance. It was almost time: The Offertory.  And then, I was almost breathless with anticipation, time for us to receive communion. The nuns directed us out of the pews with clickers: one-click . . . stand, two-clicks . . . walk out into the isle, three-clicks . . . proceed to the altar and so on. 

One by one, we reached the altar rail and stuck out our tongues for the host. Nothing.  I felt nothing.  I walked back to my seat as piously as all the others, hands folded and eyes down.  Six clicks. I walked into the pew, knelt down, and put my head in my hands to pray. Where are you, Jesus?  Maybe it’s just me.  Just my fault.  Mea culpa.  Mea culpa.  Mea maxima culpa.

After I asked Mary Claire O’Leary if she felt anything.  “No.  What did you expect?”  

“I expected to feel Jesus.”  

“Oh, please.  You’re so weird.  You’re not a saint, you know.”   

“I know.”

~ by brooklynmemoriesmostgreen on February 9, 2009.