The Rosettenville kid confesses (1/5)

By Drum Digital
20 April 2015

His guilt and greed had brought him here, but was he ready for a new beginning?

Storm water swirled along the kerbside at my feet and rimmed the road with flotsam in the wake of a late summer thunderstorm that still rumbled and darkened the sky. It was that time on a Saturday afternoon when drunks were starting to hang out on corners and gamblers packed the tab-and-tote betting joint on 10th Street.

I sloshed over the road through scum-laden water to enter the Catholic church in La Rochelle and confess my sins. The confessional cubicle was dark; I could scarcely make out the shape of the Father behind the screen. By his words and movements, I knew he was making the sign of the cross. I hurriedly followed the movements of his hand. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

I knelt on the padded bench below the screen. “It’s been a long time since my last confession. I have many sins . . .” I avoided looking at the shadowed face of the Father behind the screen. I wondered if he’d recognised me. I’d always avoided revealing details of my existence on the streets at gatherings of the church youth group.

Father Rodrigues got as far as persuading me to go to confession. Mother would have approved – she’d raised me in the faith. “I was pushing drugs last year to my fellow students at high school and all other kids on the streets of Orlando.” I’d half expected some word of surprise or support, but none came. In that silence between the Father and myself I felt increasingly naked at revealing the burden I’d carried all through “I was helping my best friend at school, Floyd. He’d been selling drugs for a while and it showed.

Floyd had the most unbelievable exotic takkies, the best street gear and all the gadgets and latest apps. It was Floyd who introduced me to the druglord.

To be continued...

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