Anything For Mrs. Erikson

I don’t know. I think I was six, maybe eight years old when I had my first confession. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait for it to happen. After all, Mrs. Erikson, my C.C.D. teacher made it sound like a cool thing to happen… a celebration of sorts. I believed her.

I would do anything for Mrs. Erikson.

We studied our Bible verses, worked in our Jesus workbooks, and learned all the right prayers. Then we had our big practice run through with Mrs. Erikson playing the priest.

She gave a big pontification explaining her acting like a priest wasn’t sacrilegious or anything like that. God would want her to do this to help our little souls.

She took two chairs and faced them to each other. She sat in one and asked, “Okay, who would like to go first?”

A sea of chubby little hands part the air with excitement.

Kurtis went first. He sat in the chair facing Mrs. Erikson. Their knees almost touching. Kurtis was such a sweet boy. I did not have the correct vocabulary to describe how I felt about him. But the feelings were probably that of a first school crush.

“Okay, Kurtis, think of a sin you might like to confess.”

“Okay, um. I got one.”

“Great, now I will start and remember, I’m not a real priest, just pretending.”

“Um, yeah, okay.”

Kurtis confessed to locking his sister out of the house.

I thought to myself Kurtis was such a bad-ass.

They went through the entirety of their mock confession and when it was done she gave Kurtis three Hail Mary’s and two Our Fathers.  Which he obediently did.

I watched him as my head did an all agreeing nod. I liked how Kurtis played by the rules.

The remaining eight or so kids run through their parts and divulge their sins to Mrs. Erikson, the not really a priest priest. Everyone except Jimmy were given a few Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers. Jimmy was told to pray the rosary.

I had been the last kid to go. I had nothing.

“Okay, Christina,” She always used my full name. “Got your confession?”

“Um, no.”

She smiled at me. She always reminded me of Santa, if he were a girl. Not only was she my C.C.D. teacher she was also the mom to one of my best friends. She was also a sometime babysitter.

Whenever I had to stay home from school, she would take me down into the basement of her home. They had a nice finished family room with a bar, fireplace, and an entire living room. Dark paneled walls with small windows gave it a cozy feeling.

She would tuck me in snug on the couch with a few fluffy pillows and warm blankets. She would turn on the television and head back upstairs with the promise of coming back soon to check on me.

While I laid on the couch watching the Price is Right and Family Feud I could hear her loading and unloading the dishwasher. The vacuum made some passes over head and the smell of Spic and Span drifted down. Mrs. Erikson kept a clean house.

True to her word she would come down with an arm load of laundry and asked if I needed anything. She would turn the channel to Hollywood Squares and sit with me while she folded her clean towels. Sometimes she would iron her husband’s work shirts.

Then at eleven-thirty on the dot she came back with a tray of chicken noodle soup and a pile of saltine crackers. I would eat my lunch while she watched her soaps. On commercial she would quickly grab my tray and take it back up the stairs to the kitchen. She would come back just as fast. She would then lay me across her lap and stroke my hair while she sat there watching The Young and the Restless. I always went into a trance afraid that if I moved the slightest it would stop. Tingles prickled throughout my little body.

Like I said, I would do anything for Mrs. Erikson…. Until…

“Now Christina, you must have something to confess.”

“No Mrs. Erikson, I swear. I’ve got nothing.”

She asked me a few more times with added prompts.

“Have you lied to your mother lately?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Erikson. I would never do that.”

There had been no point in lying to my mother. She swore she could always tell when we lied to her. I was too scared to lie to her.

“Have you done something mean or bad to your sister Debbie?”

Her choice of sisters did not get past me. In truth, there had been plenty of times I had wanted to do something mean or bad to my sister Debbie. I never did; she too scared me.

“No.” I look down at my feet.

“How about we just say you broke your mothers favorite serving plate?”

“But why would I do that, Mrs. Erikson?”

She smiled, leaned over, and gave me a big hug. “How about we just pretend?”

“Okay, Mrs. Erikson. We can just pretend.”

Because, I would do anything for Mrs. Erikson.