Heaven | Teen Ink

Heaven

February 26, 2013
By Alexandra Nagle BRONZE, Atlanta, Georgia
Alexandra Nagle BRONZE, Atlanta, Georgia
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

“Father, I’m leaving my husband” Juliana said with a vacant expression, not wanting to betray her emotions.
“The married woman is bound by law to her husband while he is living” the priest quoted from the Bible.
“But Father John I…”
“There is nothing to argue here Juliana; The Lord has made himself very clear on this matter. ‘Consequently they are no longer two, but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let no man separate’” he interrupted, again quoting a passage from the Bible. “If a rift has formed in your marriage, you simply must pray to God for his forgiveness as well as the forgiveness of your husband.”
“But…”
“But nothing. If you continue your plans for a divorce, you will inevitably condemn yourself to the fires of Hell. The Church cannot and will not support this decision.” The bulging vein in his forehead throbbed threateningly, betraying the frustration in an otherwise stony expression.
“But it’s not my fault. He just gets so angry” she whimpered. Tears began running down her face, clear and sad.
“Well it’s certainly not your husband’s fault” he snapped. Yet at this, she noticed his gaze shift uncomfortably from her battered face to the floor.
Juliana lowered her head, revealing the bruise on her cheek that had not wholly faded and shone faintly in the light. The swollen cut by her eye gave a throb. It had been almost a month since she lost the baby. James had stumbled home drunk, smelling of whisky and sweat and cigars. He had been so angry that night.
“If it weren’t for him, I’d be a mother right now” she said bitterly.
“I understand that you are upset about that incident, but there is really nothing I can do”
Juliana bit her lip to keep fresh tears from emerging. “Thank you Father for seeing me on such short notice, but it’s getting late and James likes me to have dinner ready precisely at 6:00pm”
She left the confessional, made her way back to the main sanctuary and up the center aisle of the church. At one time in her life, the barrel-vaulted ceilings would have made her feel closer to God as they stretched towards the heavens, but now their loftiness only intensified her sense of isolation; halls that once rang with ethereal voices of the young boys choir now echoed with Juliana’s resounding insignificance. She passed the altar. The intimidating sight of red upon gold burned her retinas, leaving scorch marked outlines of crosses and the unblinking eye of God on the inside of her lids as she walked away. Juliana exited the church, and immediately, a weight was lifted as she no longer had to bear witness to this grotesque reminder of a life passed. With one last glance, she walked away and left the beautiful piece of architecture there to mock another troubled soul.
As Juliana walked down the street, she noticed the various neglected brownstone homes and shops: Jay’s Groceries, McGovern Photography, and Red Pharmaceuticals, yet slowly, the individual stores ran together to form towering walls of grey and brown on either side of the street. She was numb, his words echoing in her head to the beat of her footsteps. Father John had been her hope of escape. The sun began to set, but Juliana didn’t care. Whatever unknown evils lurked in the shadows of these streets could be no worse than the one she knew would be waiting for her at home.
After a few minutes, there was a noticeable change in scenery. The moon replaced the sun in the sky, and yet everything was awash with color. Streetlamps no longer lined the streets. Instead, paper lanterns in various shades of red and orange hung on the front of restaurants and stores to illuminate haphazard signs advertising things like calming jasmine tea and small rice paper dolls. A few paces ahead of Juliana, there walked a well-dressed couple of gentlemen in top hat and tails. They were an odd pair. Based on their clothing, it would not have seemed completely inappropriate for them to have been at a formal dinner party, sipping Champaign, yet they were here, wandering amongst the common merchants and the poor in the streets of Chinatown. They took a right into an alleyway and down a set of stairs where a rusty door swung open to let them enter. Juliana followed, intrigued.
Through the door, a new world emerged. Silk curtains of every color were hung up to form a sort of Bedouin looking tent. Men and women alike sat formally on cushions around squat, round tables smoking something unidentifiable while others lie spread-eagled across the floor and bar dressed in something resembling dirty rags.
“What is that they’re smoking? It doesn’t smell like tobacco” Juliana asked one of the more alert patrons nearby.
“Opium. It’ll dull the pain and bring the whole world into focus. Your mind’ll be set free” said the woman, noticing Juliana’s bruise.
She stepped closer to one of the round tables and saw an elaborate brass object in the middle to which a number of slender pipes connected. Juliana picked up one of the vacant pipes, brought it to her lips, and inhaled. A warming sensation washed over her; stillness flooded her mind and replaced the chaos that had been ruling her life. No more pain. No more suffering. It all washed away with the events of the day. Father John was not the only escape from this life she had been living.
She smelled of the streets. For the last three days, Juliana had slept alongside businessmen and traders alike, watching and listening as more slaves to the drug came in to experience its intoxicating effect. Smoke hung low to the ground in a hazy fog, distorting the intricately woven patterns of the over dyed oriental rugs. A man in dark woolen overcoat and bowler hat sat across the room staring at her with unseeing eyes. This was not unusual; many people would enter the den hoping to for a time become blind to their reality. But she knew what really happened. A person could escape from some truths but wind up in the lap of a reality far worse, and yet she still chose to spend days in this hole in a sort of trance. She took another slow drag from the slender, brass pipe, reclined and succumbed to the heaviness she felt in her lids.



The room was a ghost town disturbed only by the occasional tumbleweed of sins left by previous troubled souls. Before entering the confessional, Juliana hastily smoothed out her dress so that the blue flowers lay flat against their backdrop of ivory silk. She opened the door and sat down on the sturdy oak chair. Looking towards the priest, she noticed the mesh screen casting tiny cross-shaped shadows across the hook-nosed profile of Father John.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned” she said just the way her mother had taught her. “Well Father I…I borrowed some bubblegum from Mr. Branson the other day”
“Borrowing in and of itself is not a sinful act, but I’m assuming you did not give the bubblegum back when you were finished with it. Am I correct in that assumption?”
“Yes Father” she replied meekly, maintaining a steady gaze at her knees.
“Mmhmm…and when you borrowed this bubblegum, did you ask Mr. Branson for permission?”
“No Father” she said, almost a whisper now.
“Juliana, did you steal the bubblegum?” he asked in a stern but not unkind voice.
“Well…I was on my way home from school…” she said pausing briefly as tears started to well up and roll down her flushed cheeks. “And I went into Mr. Branson’s candy store like always to buy some malt balls when I saw a pack of Micky’s new strawberry bubblegum.”
Silence ensued broken only by the sound of fabric on skin as she wiped away a tear with a small gloved hand.
“Continue” he said
“But, I didn’t have enough for both, so on my way out of the store, I… I slipped the bubblegum into my pocket” she sputtered. Her words were barely audible through the occasional sob and constant sniffling. Father John waited quietly for a few minutes to let her to calm down.
It wasn’t until a final rub of her eyes and wipe of her nose on her sleeve, signaling the end of the momentary break down that Father John spoke again.
“You do understand why stealing is sinful don’t you Juliana?”
“Because it’s dishonest and goes against what our Lord Jesus taught us to do” she replied
“That’s right. Now, I want you to leave here today and say the Lord’s Prayer ten times, reflecting on your actions. Then you need to apologize to Mr. Branson and ask for his forgiveness” said Father John
“Yes Father” Juliana responded a little more confidently.
“Good. I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Go in peace child”
“Thanks be to God” she replied and exited the sweltering confessional elated, for her sins were now a part of the tumbleweeds rolling through that ghost town.


The vision of that grand cathedral faded, but Juliana could not shake the feeling of heat radiating from that place. She was sweating now, her tattered clothing bonding to her skin like a mother to a new born child. The stale smell of smoke lingered in the air as men and women lie sprawled on various overstuffed cushions and poufs, leaving their pipes unattended on the oriental rugs next to them. Juliana rolled over onto her stomach. The woman was right. There was no pain, only the pleasure of innocence induced by sin. She would never leave this place. It was heaven.



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