Murphy Family Post-Dinner

          Everyone was seated in the family room. Full from Easter dinner, everyone was lazily marinating in decaf coffee and country music. The entire San Diego Murphy family, excluding the uncle who had already left for his AA meeting, was chatting. With three priests present, religion was bound to come up, but my parents tried to guide the conversation toward sports, business, politics, and education (the hot topic for my sister and I, the only grandchildren still in school at this gathering). 

         My aunt asked my sister about the schedule she would have at the new school she'll be going to starting this summer. Put on the spot, the room was quieted as all the grown-ups and I listened. “Well, I’ll go to school once a week and do my work the rest of the week,” replied my little sister, Kelly, describing what her junior year of high school will be like at Escondido Charter School.

          “Well I just gotta tell you I think you’re crazy,” said one of the uncles. “But no one asked me my opinion,” he finished.

          The polite, lighthearted chorus of defensive“yeah’s!” followed, but I still wished I’d beat him to his own comeback. 

It Was Easy

     Day five of my sixth consecutive year at the same Catholic youth conference


     But this year I wore the $150 t-shirt that showed participants that I was on the leadership team that, generally considered, was comprised of college students trying to live like Christ. I was walking alone between our main venue, The Viejas Arena, on my left and SDSU Frat Row on my right. A man probably only a couple years older than me was walking towards me. He must have been hot, wearing such dark colors and full coverage clothes in the middle of July. As we passed, I smiled politely at him, looking him in the eye, but the gesture wasn’t reciprocated. 

     

     “Don’t fuckin’ smile at me you fuckin’ bitch,” he said to me, under his breath, as he continued walking past me. 

     

     I started walking faster. I started breathing quicker. I started to cry. 

     

     But I recovered because I had to go greet people at the next workshop. I put back my smile and welcomed the participants-

     

     it was easy, the attendees said thank you and smiled back at me. 
     
     It was easy... being Christlike? 
     It was easy... being Christ? 

Black Lie

     Runaway Bride won the vote. With nothing better-preferable-to do on a Saturday night, I joined them and sat down for a staring contest with the black box. 
     A small-town farm girl didn’t know how beautiful she was-it was all an accident. A successful writer from the city finally showed her what a perfect accident it was. 

     The first kiss was spontaneous. She left. He ran after her. 

     The last kiss was gentle. She stood, small and vulnerable. He held her softly like he cared. 

     He would try his best to never hurt her. 

     The credits began to roll. No more hollow montages. No more empty words. No more intimacy. No more. False. 

     And I hated myself for believing any of it-even for a moment.