Back to Work (Part 5)

And I’m not weird. I don’t care what Tommy Sizemore says. And if you’re the kind of person who listens to Tommy Sizemore, I should probably pray for you. But I’m not gonna do that. Say your own goddamn prayers and stop expecting me to do everything. No, wait. I don’t mean it. Really, I’ll pray for you. Just don’t leave, okay?

I walked to the church because the more work confession is, the more it counts, and I needed this one to really count, so I even went to my own church instead of picking a random one where nobody knows me. You can confess at Episcopal churches, too, which is handy for no repeat appearances and all that.

So I walked to St. Mary’s and went to the chapel first and lit a candle for my mom, then I thought I should light one for Polly and the gas station lady and Heather Reynolds, and so on, so I’m just quietly lighting my candles, not bothering anyone, and this bossy altar guild lady comes over and stands beside me, then holds out her hand for the matches. She was nice and said she understood, that she had lost a lot of loved ones, too. Then she said I could say all of their names, then light just one candle for all of them, that Mary was right here watching, and she would tell God how special that candle was. I told her thank you, that it was awful nice of her and also explained why it took some people so long to light just one candle. She smiled then shushed me. I wanted to ask her something, so I raised my hand. She whispered, “Whisper!” so I did and asked her if I needed to light another candle or if it was okay to just say the rest of the names. I pulled my rosary out of my pocket, and she seemed real happy that I had one, her smile going all the way to her eyes for the first time. She didn’t seem so bossy after all.

I accidentally dropped my list of sins when I got my rosary out of my pocket, but I always fold it up real good, so I know she didn’t see anything. I picked it up but not too fast, so it was okay. Almost like it didn’t happen.

She went away to do altar guild lady stuff while I was saying my Hail Marys and Our Fathers. I told Mary to let God know that one rosary would count for everyone. I figure if it’s good for candles, it’s good for rosaries. I spend a lot less time in the church since learning that. It’s almost as good as Sundays not counting in Lent. God is all about that seventh day off. I remember reading stories about the olden days when people wouldn’t do anything on Sunday except go to church, sit around, and read. Can you imagine?

I’m not telling what I said in confession—that might make it not count, and I worked way too hard on this confession for it to not count.

After I walked home, I went to my tree fort and got out my cigar box, and there, on top of Polly’s blue ribbon, there was an oyster shell that still had sand on it. I took it out and put it in my other box, with the other stuff that I don’t remember putting in my cigar box but find there. No, I’m not rummaging through that box.

It’s time to put all of this away. I go back to work tomorrow, and I like my job a lot. I work maintenance in this historic, haunted hotel. It’s almost a hundred years old, so stuff is always breaking. We’re really more of a repair team than a maintenance crew. But getting to see all of the fancy rooms is pretty cool, and my boss, Steve, is an okay guy. And the free parking is a great side perk, especially since they switched the system. We can enter our phone number instead of getting a ticket now. That’s right—I’m one of those guys punching numbers into the machine and getting that bar to lift without taking a damn ticket! But I lose my cool pulling in because I always duck, even though I know that clearance bar won’t hit me, because it looks like it will.

I have a master key, which is really cool. It unlocks everything except the manager’s office, the bar, and the liquor closet. So I buzz myself in and take the elevator up to clock in.

As soon as I’m clocked in, Maurice tells me that Steve needs me to come up to the penthouse. The owner is in town with his new girlfriend, and she thinks there’s something wrong with the air conditioner.

Cool! I love going to the penthouse. It has a living room with a fireplace and two fancy balconies. A real famous architect designed the hotel. I forget his name, but it wasn’t Frank Lloyd Wright, and it wasn’t the guy who made that crazy toaster in the sky in Augusta.

It’s not a proper penthouse with its own elevator and everything, doesn’t even take up the whole floor, but it has an awesome shower. I used it once when we got super dirty cleaning up a leak from one of the coolers in the restaurant. The restaurant is cool. If the chef isn’t there, they don’t make me get a server to ring in my food, just ask me what I want and make it for me! And sometimes, the bartender will slip me a drink at the end of my shift. I like gin. It reminds me of trees.

When I get up to the penthouse, Steve is in there with his totally boss tool bag, but get this—there’s a fucking bird in a cage on the coffee table. One of those talking jobs, and it’s going on and on about what a pretty boy, and Steve’s talking back to the damn thing while he’s banging around in that air conditioner with his wrench. It was the craziest damn thing.

“Steve, man. It’s alright. I’m here, you don’t have to talk to that bird.”

“Nah, man. This bird is cool. Check it out: Polly want a cracker?”

No way. Did Steve know about Polly? Not possible. Polly probably wasn’t even her real name, even though it was the realest name she ever had because I’m the one who gave it to her, and I’m the one who saved her from Eve’s blood.