Though I love Christmas and New Year

Spent at home with friends and family,

One face I miss who's always been here

To share in dinner buffets and presents

And all the rest of the holiday cheer.

Not this time.

"Coming to Mass, Tala dear?" asks Mom,

Her powder-blue eyes full of hope.

It means so much to her, this ritual--

Plus, I love the choir's joyous melodies.

If she needs this, I can play along.

Just for today.

We leave for church an hour early,

Bundled up in winter coats and boots,

A frigid breeze makes my skin tingle

Though the church helps me thaw

As we walk toward the family pew.

That's when I spot him.

Richard Marino.

My Rick.

Secretly I hoped I would find him,

For we met in this church as children

And attended Mass here ever since

As the closest of friends, inseparable,

Two kindred souls intertwined.

We've suffered through hell together

And endured together.

Until now.

His tall frame hunched in deep thought,

Rick prays solemnly to his dearest Lord

Despite the Christmas roasts and pies,

He appears thinner than before. Gaunt.

Not like when he's dieting. More severe.

When Rick turns to me, his eyes widen,

Ringed with dark circles, like he hasn't

Slept in ages. My heart stops. Guilt rises.

Have I done this to him? Is it a relapse?

If so, what do I do to fix it? God, help!

I've seen him like this twice before,

And it worries me.

He rises and approaches in a fine suit

That hangs a bit looser around his body

While my family continues in single file,

Dressed in their Christmas holiday best,

Before curiously turning to watch us.

"Tala, you're here," he breathes in awe.

"The Lord has answered my prayers."

Rick holds out his arms to invite me and

I melt into his warm yet bony embrace

As he plants a gentle kiss on my crown.

"I've missed you, Rick."

"You've returned to Him," he whispers,

Pressing me to his chest like a precious

Treasure. "I knew you would come back

If only I prayed hard enough and atoned.

I can hardly believe you're really here."

Guilt stabs me like a lance.

"No, it's not what you think."

He freezes.

His muscles tighten before he retreats,

Searching for any sign of callous jest.

Finding none, his expression turns blank

Before he hardens his anguished heart

And walks away without another word.

"Rick, please!" I whisper.

Turning to me,

Kind yet firm,

He holds up a palm

To stop me in my tracks

And shakes his head.

"What happened?" I ask. "You're so..."

"My penance."

My heart sinks into my stomach.

"What have you done?

Don't torture yourself."

"Leave, Tala. You only make it worse."

His words pierce my heart like daggers.

I want to wrap my arms around him

And make everything all right again.

I want to bring him festive joy and love

To dispel any sadness or pain I've caused.

I do a little jog to catch up

And sit on the pew beside him.

His hands have a faint tremor,

His eyes squeezed shut,

The ghost of a prayer on his lips.

"I didn't want to leave," I whisper.

"If you could just accept my decision--"

"To abandon Our Lord?" he hissed.

"How dare you enter His sacred house

After you've so pridefully forsaken Him

Without asking for His forgiveness?

Is it to appease your family? Or me?"

"No!"

"Then why?"

His voice falls weary, almost desperate,

Exhausted and full of the deepest sorrow.

But I can't empathize with him just then

And flippant words tumble from my lips,

Ones that I almost immediately regret.

"I like the music."

Rick whips to face me, incredulous,

His eyes glinting like polished steel

Even though they are a kaleidoscope

Of autumn hues--green, brown, gold--

A testament to his half-Italian heritage.

"You can't be serious!"

He speaks through clenched teeth,

As though he's seething on the inside.

Jesus must have had the same expression

When driving traders from the Temple

Or berating the Scribes and Pharisees.

We sit for a moment in scathing silence,

Our chests rising and falling like lovers

After a quick tumble in the sheets.

While I hold his disappointed stare,

I rise and snatch my black leather purse.

"Fine! Break my olive branch. I tried."

He grasps my hand before I can go.

"Come back to Him. It isn't too late."

I snatch my hand and march away.

During the Christmas carols, I ignore him.

During the readings, I ignore him.

During the Sign of Peace, I ignore him.

During Holy Communion, I ignore him.

During the socializing, I ignore him.

Rick leaves without another word

And we never say Merry Christmas.