Drowning Barbie by Frederick Ramsay

voice.
    â€œI don’t know. See, I don’t, you know, go to church much. Is this a Catholic church? I saw the little statues on the walls with the numbers and figured it had to be.”
    â€œYou saw the Stations of the Cross. They are not necessarily Catholic with a capital C. Other denominations use the stations on occasion as well.”
    â€œOh. So you’re not, like, Catholic.”
    â€œI am catholic with a lower case C, not Roman, if I take your meaning.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Blake realized a lecture on catholicity and its many inter-pretations would not be useful at the moment. “I assume you are not a Roman Catholic, Miss. Why did you ask? Do you want to go to a Catholic church, or is there something else?”
    â€œA guy I used to know…see, one time he tried to fix me, but couldn’t or something. He said I should confess to a priest and then I would be okay with God.”
    â€œYou want to make a confession?”
    â€œI guess. Will I be okay with God if I do? I’ve been in some pretty bad shit…sorry, I forgot. There, you see what I mean? I can’t even talk to a preacher without pissing off God. Sorry.”
    â€œGod has heard it all before. If you wish, I can hear your confession. Or, if you’d rather, I can tell you how to find a Catholic church, or you can sit here as long as you like and talk to God yourself.”
    â€œI tried that. It don’t work, somehow I can’t, like, get connected. That’s why I came here. You’re allowed to do that stuff? I mean you’re a priest and all?”
    â€œIf by ‘stuff’ you mean hear your confession, I can, and if you want me to, I will. Does anybody know you’re here?”
    The girl started again and gave him a look he would have described as frightened—except why would that question scare her? Unless she was on the run.
    â€œYeah. I told my…I told the people I am staying with about it, sort of.”
    â€œSort of?”
    â€œThey’re not, like, church people. I don’t think they’d get it, so I said I wanted to take a little walk.”
    â€œOkay. I don’t want to be accused of misleading anybody. So, yes, I can hear your confession.”
    The girl frowned and scrunched up her face. “I don’t know. Aren’t there rules or something about that?”
    â€œProbably, but that would be someone else’s problem. Here’s the deal. I will listen to you. Anything you say will be confidential. You know what the ‘Seal of the Confessional’ is?”
    â€œYou can’t tell the cops?”
    â€œPretty much, yeah.”
    â€œYou know I’m crazy?”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œLike if I let go for even a minute, I lose it. Like, I am hanging on to being normal by my fingernails.”
    Blake glanced at the girl’s hands and saw little evidence of nails. She had chewed them to the quick.
    â€œWhy is that?”
    â€œIt’s like the shit…the life I was into back in the day. One doc who saw me said I’m ‘chemically imbalanced’ from back then, like when I was born or something. Hey, if it’s not something you can do, you know—”
    â€œIt’s okay. Do you have a name?”
    â€œYeah, but not today. Maybe I can say it later, but I better not yet. Is that part of the confessing? I gotta tell you my name?’
    â€œNo, not a part. God knows you. That’s enough for now.”
    The girl scratched her arm and studied the carpet. Blake noted that there did not seem to be any needle marks on it. A good sign.
    â€œOkay. What do I do now?”
    Blake handed her a prayer book. “Read the pages I’ve marked with a ribbon. When you’re ready, just tell me what’s going on.”
    Blake watched as the girl read the pages he’d indicated. Her lips moved as she tracked the words. She looked up, her expression a question mark. Blake motioned her to kneel at