I probably shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. Okay, if I’m honest I’ll admit I definitely shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. I should have been listening to the homily like everyone else, especially since Fr. Meese was a friend of mine and I’m sure that what he was saying was something directly pertaining to my life at that moment. But I was in a mood for trouble and that little fly carcass, perched so elegantly on window ledge, was just too tempting. So, while the rest of the parents isolated in the cry room up in the church balcony were listening intently, or at least attempting to as their little urchins crawled over each other and pelted themselves with Cheerios, I stared intently at the fly.

There was a lot of distraction up there, with all the toddlers and babies babbling and screaming, but eventually I was able to slip into the zone. As soon as I did, my husband Steve noticed and started nudging my arm. I felt this dimly, as I was too busy with the fly to have any real interaction with the outside world, but I was aware of it and filed it away to be dealt with later. He was such a stickler for keeping me in line and I knew that he wouldn’t approve of this little stunt, but I wasn’t worried. He wouldn’t cause enough of a ruckus to snap me out of it. And besides, just as he started his nudging, Jack, our own little urchin, began to howl incessantly for some apple juice, which he knew full well we did not have. Bless his little heart, he seems to have an uncanny knowledge of what I need at any given time and how he can best get it for me. Not bad for a three-year-old. It makes me wonder what he’s going to be like when he’s ten. I imagine he’ll be ruling the world by then. I’m just glad that he appears to be on my side.

While Jack carried on howling, the fly began its graceful decent from the window ledge. Just for fun, I singled out Jenna Marquez and zipped it around her head a few times. I was still pissed at her for cutting in front of me at the grocery store the other day so I sent it into her ear and then out again before she had time to lay a hand on it. I did it a few times, just until my vengeance was quieted, and then continued to sail it across the aisles, up and down rows of pews. Sometimes I dangled it in front of curious children and made it spin on its head while they tugged on their parent’s arms trying to get them to look at it. None of them saw it though, as I sent it away long before they turned to look.

By this time, Fr. Meese was getting to his grand finale and soon enough we would all have to stand and get on with the regular business of mass. I figured it was a good time to put an end to my little show and began swerving the fly toward the pulpit in exaggerated arcs. I was watching the timing, trying to catch the last syllable of the last word and then land that sucker right on the end of his nose; a sermon ending that was sure to cause a few snickers among the altar boys. I had been to enough of his sermons to know all the key signs. When he started raising his voice and gesturing with his hands, lightly slapping them on the pulpit to emphasize the moral of the story, I knew we were almost there. I started to bring it in for a landing. The final angle of approach was set and I sent it gently but swiftly down to Fr. Meese’s sizable snout.

That’s when the pain shot through my ankle.

I was ripped out of the zone like a worm being ripped from the ground by a hungry bird. Stars flashed across my vision and as I blinked them away, I looked down to see what had happened. One of the little urchins had decided to slam the kneeler down square onto my ankle! My poor bruised flesh started to turn purple and swell before my very eyes and immediately I turned to find the brat responsible. As I looked around, however, it became apparent that everyone had their eyes fixed on the pulpit. Fr. Meese was on the floor and a good number of people were bending over him. Someone was shouting for a doctor. I sat pensively on the edge of the pew, chewing a fingernail and rubbing my swollen ankle wile Dr. Henderson rushed up from the back of the church. When he reached Fr. Meese the crowd closed in around him so I couldn’t see what he did, but it went on for a number of minutes, whatever it was. In the end, it must not have done any good anyway because someone let out a yell and then there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Fr. Meese was dead. It came out a few days later that he had choked on a fly.

I felt pretty bad about the whole thing and spent the better part of a week moping around the house with an ace bandage on my ankle avoiding Steve’s glares and letting Jack play doctor for me. It seemed to make him feel very important to be able to minister to his injured mother, so I indulged him by letting him take my temperature with his plastic thermometer and listen to my bruise healing with is toy stethoscope. It was during one of these examinations that he crawled into my lap and, after carefully placing the thermometer under my tongue, looked me directly in the eye and said “It was me, Mom.”

Somewhere, deep in the insides of my heart, I knew just what he was talking about, but I needed to hear it so I asked, “What was you?”

“You know, I gave you the boo boo.”

“Why would you give Mommy a boo boo? Was it an accident?”

I half expected him to say that it was, but the answer came, “No.”

“Why would you hurt me on purpose, Jack? Are you sorry?”

“Are you?” he asked and I knew in an instant that in his three years on earth he had learned more than I had in thirty. I thought for a second before answering and then realized the futility of lying.

“Nope,” I said, looking him straight in the eye.

“Me neither, he replied, meeting my gaze exactly.