GEORGETOWN – I’ve tried everything. I’ve emailed him, I’ve attended his virtual office hours even though I’m not in any of his classes. I’ve even pretended to need spiritual guidance. But I don’t care about my spirit. All I yearn for is to be in his presence, and yet Father Carnes, that beautiful, beautiful man, continually refuses to meet with me in person. “I live with elderly priests, Alfred,” he says. “I need to consider their safety during the pandemic.” What about MY safety? I can’t feel safe when I’m kept away from the warm embrace of his spindly, fragile old arms. I need it. I need it. I NEED IT.

Well, I’ve come up with a plan that’ll make Father Carnes spend time with me. I’ve learned to speak Latin backwards, and I plan to scream it while rolling my eyes into the back of my head in the middle of the Healy Hall foyer. “Eaem eaitnetsixe esse ealam eropmet inmo ni eam amina tse eam ataccep tnanmad! Eaem eaitnetsixe esse ealam eropmet inmo ni eam amina tse eam ataccep tnanmad!” I’ll scream and scream, until eventually Carnes will have to conclude that I’ve been possessed and need an exorcism. Oh, I can’t wait. He’ll pray over me, he’ll make fun splashes with holy water, maybe he’ll even grace me with his gentle touch as he makes the sign of the cross on my forehead. And I’m not going to give up easy, either. He’s going to have to fight for me, for hours, days even. And then, just then, when he’s reached the limits of his endurance, when he’s begun to doubt whether God really is all-powerful, I’ll sit up, tell him his faith is vindicated, and give him a long, sweet, kiss. On the lips.