The Pigeon/The Wheel
“For me, prayer is a surge of the heart; it is a simple look turned toward heaven. It is a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy.”-St. Therese
JUST SEND A PIGEON! YOU COULD BE HAPPY! YOU COULD FINALLY HAVE A GOOD RELATIONSHIP WITH HER, BUT NO! YOU’RE PUTTING IT OFF, WHY!?
Who said I didn’t have one?
You did, duh.
What if they hate me?
What if I...
Who cares? You wanna be a Guiteau for the rest of your life, clinging to the possibility that your Mom loves you because your head says so? Hey, maybe if you do it now, it’ll be done. You won’t have to worry about her anymore! Just like your boyfriend--
I’LL SEND A PIGEON, DAMMIT. At this point, I don’t care if she likes me or not anymore. I just want closure. I just want to feel fine. I NEED TO FEEL OKAY. AND IF I HAVE TO POUR MY GUTS OUT, FINE! Frankly, I don’t care...I’m plump, I’m sick, I’m tired of my brain telling me I’m well!
I don’t care if she likes me or not. I just want to be free...because I am unworthy of her love.
A heaving sigh, then I looked at the parchment, the shiny golden-trimmed parchment with the illuminated lettering on it.
Um, hello. You might think I’m crazy for waiting so long to contact you, but I am in need of assistance. You see, I’ve had a very eventful year so far, and it started with my depression, a book...then a portrait of the Virgin Mary that’s currently hanging in my room and a necklace I got at a local county fair. I was prepared to ignore it as simple coincidence, but then I heard her voice in my head. And then I heard others. They told me they were saints and they were delighted to see me, then listed off their names.
Saint Therese Liseux, Saint Michael--his last name was quite hard to say, but it sounds like Rembrandt. Saint Olga Dandrige and Jerome Diaz. I’d also met a demon named Samael, who acted nice to me until they drove him away.
My story actually starts 13 years earlier, but you wouldn’t want to hear it all, I assume, so I’m starting it here. Anyway, so I was prepared to ignore them as mere productions of my imaginative head, but then Mary told me that I’d be a saint when I get to heaven and that’s why they’re talking to me.
I immediately wanted to ask questions, as one ought to do, but I didn’t know where to start. Why me? How on Earth did she find me and why did she anoint me to such a high position?
I don’t sound very saint-like. I’m not very suited to it, I believe. I was a Buddhist until I met her and even then I felt lost.
Could you help me figure this out?
Ten minutes and a lost pigeon later, I gave up. My fingers were tingling too for a minute, and it felt like Mary was laughing at me for some reason, but the Hallelujah Chorus was in the background like I'd done something worth noting, even if the pigeon fell flat on its face and twitched like it got ran over a couple of times, breathed in the metaphorical jaws of life, and then died ironically after getting choked by the same jaws.