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The abbot looks like no one more than he looks like Friar Tuck from the cartoon Robin Hood, except he doesn’t have a tonsure. And he isn’t a badger, obviously.
“Ethical corporate espionage,” the abbot says. “You know, Christian corporate espionage. Be holy about it and stuff.”
He tasted like bubble gum and heaven. He tasted like impulsive decisions and lust and funny stories and the rest of my life.
Go, set the world on fire.
And I missed Mom. I’d missed Lizzy too, as much as my young heart was capable, but I missed my mother like an adult, with an adult’s heart, and even though I’d always weathered its whispers alone, when she died, I suddenly felt stranded and solitary in a way I’d never felt before. As if a secret part of me had always thought if it grew too loud, if I was in too much danger of doing what it wanted me to do, I could go to my mom and she would make it better. She’d make me not alone; she would make it go away.
No, most people don’t guess, do they? That sometimes the people who laugh the loudest and reach for life the hardest are the ones closest to darkness.
