Chapter 22: Ashes
Distorted light from an average day in spring shone upon Ginger’s face in multi-color.
She knelt before the priest as he traced a cross of ash across her forehead. She flinched, then held herself steady as the image completed itself, her face a canvas for the priest’s perverse art. When he had finished, she stood and returned to her pew.
Ginger grew constantly, her legs easily stretching her higher and higher, befitting a model and budding star. It’s not difficult to imagine more than a few people having trouble concentrating on their prayers.
“We call that original Sin,” the priest had told her once. Ginger had not been asking about anything unusual, just why she needed to attend mass so frequently or to bear the ashen cross. His response bothered her. She always found it profoundly sad when the priest said this, or when her parents did, or when anyone did. Who had she wronged so wickedly — before she was even alive — that would have required of someone else a death? She thought of these things and her brow furrowed and some of the ashes clumped and fell away. Her hand ached to touch her face to trace the outline of the cross and determine which portion of it disappeared. She knew her mother would make a fuss of it soon enough anyway.
They stood outside by a flower bed which surrounded a sign announcing the times of mass. Ginger’s mom began to chide her for the crumbling cross.
She sat silently as they drove home, the green fields of Michigan rolling by on her either side. She spent much of her life in the car, be it traveling to and from church or from modeling auditions and photo shoots. Of course, she never complained or voiced a position on this fact. But the truth was: she hated it.
She supposed, however, that she hated ignorance even more.
“Mom. Why did Jesus die for me?”
“So you can come into the light,” her mother said. Ginger said nothing, her mind bouncing with the distorted images of illuminated stained glass windows and with memorized recitations of the virtues of virginity. They threated to blind her with their self-sustaining and luminous intensity.
Ginger thought she would prefer the darkness, the shadows.
