“Father Tom, it’s time to get up,”
Jane called, while she happily washed the pans used for cooking breakfast.
Soon, Father Tom came thumping down the stairs. He wasn’t cranky, or anything
like that, but a man of his size thumped wherever he went.
“Morning Jane,” he said, mid-yawn,
enjoying an energetic stretch. He was a great stretcher. He arched his back and
stuck out his substantial tummy, before crouching down like a sumo wrestler. Not
finished yet, he did a three hundred and sixty degree turn on his way up,
sending a box of cornflakes flying off the kitchen table.
“Oh God, Father, what will we do with you!” she scolded, even though she was
fifteen years younger than the priest, she often felt like his mother.
“Sorry Jane,” he said, starting to
pick up the spilled cereal. Jane shushed him away with a tea towel, cleaning up
the mess herself.
“Leave that, Father, God knows what
you’ll break next.” In reality, she enjoyed the fact he was a bit clumsy, it made
her feel needed. He lowered himself into a chair, scratching his chin through
his fluffy black beard. Jane had offered to trim it before, but the only person
he would let near him with a scissors was his barber. His hair was starting to
get long, nearly reaching his collar, Father Tom would soon be needing his
bi-annual visit to Marco.
He poured a cup of tea from the pot
and flipped open the newspaper, as Jane dished up sausages and bacon for him.
Father Tom mumbled a constant stream of nonsense while he read, “Hum”, “Would you believe it”, “For
the love of God”, “Holy Mother”.
The stories could be about anything, she could never guess whether they were
happy or sad from listening to his noises.
“By the hockey, Jane, will you look
at this,” he said, shoving the paper across the table at her. Jane read the
article Father Tom was pointing at, ‘An exhibition
of Marilyn Monroe memorabilia is going on display in Dublin, including some
never before seen photos of her and John F Kennedy’.
“I’d love to go see that,” he said,
shovelling sausages into his mouth and washing them down with buckets of sweet
tea.
“Why don’t you go? It’s only two
weeks away. You can book tickets in that music shop in town,” Jane said.
“Do you know, I just might do
that,” he said, with a little smile. “I hope they have that white dress, from
the photo.”
“Which dress is that, Father?” she asked.
“You know, the famous one. When she
stood on the air vent and the wind blew up her skirt showing her – em,” he
said, stopping mid-sentence and going a little red.
“Father Tom, you should be ashamed
of yourself,” she chided, making him go even redder. She couldn’t stop the
corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a smile.
“Ah! Would you go way out of that,”
he said, flapping his hand at her, and going back to read the rest of the
paper.
***
A couple of days later, Father Tom
was walking past the music shop and decided on the spur of the moment that he
was going to go to the show after all. He entered the shop which was filled
with long racks of CDs and video games. The walls were adorned with dozens of
wildly coloured posters, and one whole side of the shop was filled with
computers and mobile phones. Behind the counter a bored looking girl in her
twenties watched him approach. Her hair was bright red, the colour of a traffic
cone, and she had a steel hook stuck through her nose.
“God almighty, that looks sore,” he
said. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“Are you trying to be funny?” she
sneered.
“Not at all,” he said, unzipping
his jacket. When she caught a glimpse of his dog collar, her attitude softened
like magic.
“Oh, sorry, Father. It’s only a
piercing,” she said, unscrewing the lethal-looking fashion accessory to show
him how it fitted together.
“Whatever will you young people
think of next?” he asked and shacked his head in disbelief. “I was told I could
buy tickets for a show in Dublin
here?”
“You sure can, Father. Who were you
going to see?” the girl asked while punching keys on a computer mounted under
the desk.
“I wanted to see Marilyn Monroe, it’s
happening next week,” he said, leaning on the counter, coming very close to
knocking over a revolving rack of headphones. The girl searched on the computer
for a while before saying, “I can’t see anything by that name, Father, are you
sure you have it right?”
“Certain, my dear,” he said.
“The only thing even close, is
Marilyn Manson, in the O2 next Friday,” she said.
“That’s the one,” he said thinking they must
be using her married name or something.
The flame haired girl tapped a few more keys, and looked at the priest with
concern. “Father, are you sure this is right? This stuff is a bit sexy.”
“Between you and me,” he said
leaning closer, “I always thought so, myself, but what is the harm in it?” She
looked shocked, but in a good way.
“All I can say is, fair play to you,
Father. What seats do you want?”
“I wasn’t planning on sitting. I
thought I’d walk around, and make sure I saw everything,” he said.
“The only standing tickets left are
in the mosh pit,” she said.
“Where is the mosh pit?” he asked.
“Right at the front.”
“Sounds like just the spot for me,”
he said smiling. The girls eyebrows arched so high, they nearly vanished into her
thatch of red hair.
“Do you want two tickets?” she
asked.
“Ah no, one will do. I’m sure I’ll
meet someone nice to keep me company,” he said. The red haired girl took
payment, and handed over his ticket.
“I must say, I admire a priests who’s
not afraid to get in touch with modern culture” she said happily and waved him
out of the shop.
***
On the morning of the show, Jane
drove him to the train station. From her bag, she pulled a tartan flask of tea
and a
Tupperware box of ham sandwiches. “Take these with
you, Father, the prices on the train are scandalous, and they only use cheap
old ham anyway.”
“Jane, what would I do without
you,” he said, whisking her up in a massive bear hug, the excitement of the
trip making him lose the run of himself. She vanished in his trunk-like arms,
like a toddler vanishes in a parents embrace. When he let her go, she was
blushing from top to toe. She gave him a playful slap on the chest and said,
“Father! Stop it will yea, people will talk.”
He smiled back at her and thought
that the blush suited her. It was then that the train pulled into the station.
He tucked the containers under his arm and jumped aboard.
He felt like a kid on a school
trip. He loved being a priest, but sometimes he missed being just “Tom”. Today
was like a holiday back to himself, back in time when he sat as a kid in musty
old movie theatres, watching Marilyn on the silver screen. Tom wondered if he’d
get to touch something that was actually hers, imagine that. He passed the
journey by daydreaming, and remembering more innocent times. It felt like he’d
only sat down, when the train pulled into Huston Station. Father Tom wandered
out of the station in a crush of commuters and found a row of taxis waiting
near the gate. He got into the back seat of the first one he came to.
“Where to,” the driver asked,
without looking over his shoulder.
“The O2,” he said with happy
authority. At this, the driver turned in his seat and glared.
“I didn’t think that would be your
kind of thing, Father. Are you protesting or something?”
“Goodness no, I’m a big fan,” he
said. “Do you know about the show?”
“I’ve spent all day bringing people
to it, if you can call them that,” the cabbie said, pulling into the late
evening traffic. The driver spent the rest of the ride shaking his head, tutting
and mumbling. “What is the world coming to?”
The taxi pulled up outside a building
on the quay. There were a lot of barriers and the street was strewn with
rubbish, it wasn’t quite what he had expected. There were a lot of young people
and some were wearing the wildest clothes. It was amazing what passed for
fashion these days, he thought remembering the girl with the fish-hook through
her nose. He got out of the taxi, and heard music coming from inside the place,
it added a lovely party atmosphere to the show he guessed. At the door, several
men in bright yellow vests with “Security” across the back, were lounging
around, so Father Tom walked up to one of them and presented his ticket.
“You’re a bit late, Father,” said
the man, tearing off the stub. They insisted he open the flask of tea and sniffed
it, as well as looking in the sandwich box. They were taking this security
thing very seriously, perhaps there’d been a bomb threat. The security
man studied his ticket with a smirk and said, “The mosh pit, Father? Are you
doing research on the other side?”
“I didn’t want to miss anything,
and I like being able to walk around,” he said, not liking being subjected to
this interrogation one bit. “Which way do I go?”
“I’ll take you down there, the show
is about to start,” said the man in the vest.
Father Tom found himself walking
down a long aisle, bordered on both sides by thousands of people. There was so
many wild costumes, it was like Halloween. He couldn’t get over some of the get-ups.
As he was escorted through the crowd, he was smiled at, high fives were given,
and they even cheered him at one stage. He had to admit he was feeling a little
bit like a celebrity.
“Great idea, man, wish I had
thought of it,” said one guy, patting him on the back as he passed. Half the
man’s face was black, the other half red, and his hair was spiked. By now, it was occurring to Tom, that
something had gone very wrong with his tickets.
“This is your section, Father. Good
luck!” shouted the security man, as he opened a crush barrier for him to enter.
Father Tom was surrounded by a
solid mass of humanity, dressed in the wildest costumes yet, the ones that were
dressed at all. In front of him, on a massive stage, was a huge statue of a
woman in white suspenders, bra and knickers, who oddly wore a bunny rabbit’s head,
of all things. This was no exhibition of memorabilia and he was on the verge of
leaving when a black haired girl crashed into him, knocking him flat on his
back. She landed right on top of him, lying with her face only inches from his.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Great
costume.”
“Hi,” said Father Tom. “Why do you
all think I’m in fancy dress?” Her eyes widened, cracking her thick black
eyeliner.
“Feck off! You are actually a
priest,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbows to get a better look.
“Yes I am. My name is Tom, nice to
meet you,” he said, holding out his hand. She took it, and shook.
“My name is Sandy, Father, nice to
meet you,
too.” She got to her feet, helping him to his.
“Are those sandwiches?” she asked,
pointing at the box. Father Tom offered to share a sandwich, which she devoured
with gusto.
“Cheers, I have the munchies bad,”
she said, blowing bread crumbs out of her mouth as she talked. Father Tom took
a good look at the girl. She was wearing platform boots, laced all the way up
to her thighs. Next came tiny black leather shorts, and her upper body was stuffed
into a black and red corset, which could only contain half her bosom. Her
pretty little face was painted powder white, with thick black eyeliner, all
topped off with a mane of long black hair. He thought she looked rather well,
actually.
Just then a thunderous roar came
from the crowd, as a band appeared on stage. Sandy grabbed Father Tom’s hand
and shouted in his ear, “Come dance with me, Father.” He only hesitated for a
second, before disappearing into the moving throng of humanity, hand in hand
with a busty stranger.
***
As luck would have it, the same taxi
driver picked him up after the concert. The man smiled in a snide kind of way
as Father Tom climbed into the back of the car.
“How was Marilyn, Father?” he
asked.
Leaning forward, Father Tom said
earnestly, “She’s sure let herself go.”
Squid. This is GREAT! I laughed the whole way through. Hahaha. Awesome, awesome job!
ReplyDeletexo
:) delighted :)
ReplyDeleteHahahhahahha - great story, Squid!
ReplyDeleteHay, Paula. ~:) your comment has me smiling like a school kid. I tried very hard with the re reading so i think i got a lot of the errors this time. Thanks to you know who
DeleteWell done!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Lisa, I am delighted you liked it.
DeleteI love this Squid, you had me enthralled from beginning to end and I really want to meet Father Tom, he sounds awesome :)
ReplyDeleteLOL he is a bit bigger than life in the nicest way. I have a funny feeling he might be very taken with you too. I could see the two of you driving off into the sunset in a convertible, music turned up way too loud.:)
DeleteIf this would become a short film, I would die laughing. Still, it's funny reading this. The wit and all!:D
ReplyDeleteNikkah we can only hope to reach one person and if i have reached you I will die happy myself. I saw your next painting and would recommend anyone reading this to check out Nikkah page, her work is fantastic. Squid
DeleteAbsolutely two thumbs up! Loved it!
ReplyDelete:) Thanks Guys
Delete