Forgive me family, for I have sinded. It happened last night at the church. There were these mini-quiches, and I needed sustenance. I’m fairly sure that there were pork products in the quiches. It’s not clear if said products were ham bacon. I think they were ham. Maybe red pepper flakes, but what does it matter? I ate them with the belief that a pig had died that I might be fed.
The reason I needed feeding was that I had been hard at work for the previous two hours. Those were the hours during which the our was performing a requiem mass in observation of the feast of All Souls. It’s not a terribly long service, but it was the second of the day for me. I was pooped. As, apparently, was the man in the third pew.
He went down somewhere during the prayers of the people. We ushers were summoned to help him leave the nave for a little fresh air. His legs would not participate. We managed to wrestle him down into a pew, and I sat beside him. He promptly slumped onto me, and doctors in the house came to take his vitals. The doctors looked grimly at one another as the man in my arms danced on the edge of consciousness. His ragged breathing would occasionally stabilize, only to become uneven again.
Later, at the mini-quiches, people remarked on how quickly the emergency responders came. It seemed to me like they took forever. Requiems are solemn enough services without a live action illustration, and I was not eager for final unction to become a part of this particular liturgy. The responders did come, however, and between us we were able to get the dude into a wheelchair and to some fresh air. Which perked him right up. Apparently he had either just fainted or been slain by the spirit. In either case, he felt well enough to walk himself to the mini quiches.
So, as I looked at him over my plate of cheese sticks and hammy egg pie, I decided I did not care, at least for the night, what the hell was hiding beneath the custard’s surface. As he chuckled and carried on with his friends, I could not bring myself to be grateful for h recovery. I was still to shocked by his almost demise in my very arms. Or maybe I was being melodramatic. Maybe there was no chance that he was actually going to kick the bucket right there in the south transept. I suppose I could have shown my gratitude by sticking with my dietary discipline. Instead I ate a mini quiche full of ham. And then another one.