Oz

The brown men are back.  They tore the Boo Radley house completely down to its foundation and then disappeared for a few days.  Early in the week, the Norteño music returned and the house had brand new beams to hold a floor within a day. The walls took an additional day to be framed in.  After one more day, men were yelling to each other in Spanish from the second floor.

"¿Cómo estás Harry?" I asked the the quiet boy that endeared himself to me when he started wearing sweatbands on his head like a seventies tennis star.
"How do you say nervous in Spanish?"  he responded.
"Nervioso"
"Estoy nervioso because tomorrow I'm doing my first reconciliation".
 The kids looked at him blankly.  I knew what he was talking about.  When I was little, it was called our first confession. 
"What is that?" Christy asked, confused.
"Well, I sit in the back of the church with Father Jenkins and confess my sins".
Hmmm.  They do it in the back of the church now.  Not in a closed room, alone?
"Your what?" she asked. 
"Sins" Harry answered.
"What's that?" Christy asked, incredulous.
"Bad things I have done".
"What if you haven't done any?"
"Oh I have," Harry answered solemnly "I have".

"We call that the doll house" a weedy, blond southern man that I had seen around my street told me.  I was speaking to my across the street neighbor and the guy fixing the next door fence.
 "Really!" I exclaimed, "I call it my princess house!"
"I lived there a while and helped restore it.  It's solid, you got a great deal, I looked it up on the internet" he told me.
"Everything seems great, no surprises" I responded.
"I painted it two years ago," he continued "Victorian".
"I love it".
"There's some extra trim paint in there, you should re-do the dark touches on the porch.  Realtor made them cover it up, said it was too much".
"There is no such thing as too much" I responded.
"I think I still have keys to your house," my across the street neighbor interjected "I'll give you keys to mine".
"I've got some too...." the blond man continued. 

I remember my first confession.  I racked my brain trying to figure out what to say and worried that I would never be able to remember the order of the prayers and things you had to say to the priest to get things rolling.  I remembered them at the time, but feared my future as an old, decrepit, church-less sinner that would see the light and want to confess, wander into the church bent over like a witch, but couldn't remember the order of the things you had to say to get in the door. It didn't take long as child Catholic to decide I was already wrecked.  Going to hell.  I had done bad shit, like not cleaning up after myself or fighting with my siblings.  Actually, that was the stuff I told the priest about.  I could never say the real things that worried me.  It was too embarrassing.  And I was going to hell anyway. 

I emerged, green faced and carrying my home-made flying monkey.  I have always gone to the auction that benefits my job, first as an auntie and now, as a worker.  A costumed worker.  That is the main reason why I do it.  All you have to say is 'costumes' and I am there.  I was wasted.  For some reason, it has been an annual event for me to be an absolute mess at this auction.  For like, nine years.  A sinner.  I heckled the parents and stuffed money into my Home Depot belt, then dumped it into a large paper bag.  Our luck bag.  Our no job cuts bag?

"Don't be nervous, Harry.  As long as you haven't killed anybody, I bet you have never done anything that even qualifies as a sin".

He smiled.