The Last Night I Lost Sleep and My First Communion

The Virgin Can Be Scarier Than an Atomic Iguana (1/3)

I still remember the last time I lost sleep. September 14, 1994. Okay, I made up a date, but I remember the night. It was the night before my first communion. 

After six months of memorizing prayers and passages from the Bible, I was finally worthy of eating the body of Christ — if the body of Christ was a tasteless wafer that gets stuck to the roof of your mouth for fifteen minutes.

My mom rented the goody-two-shoes, easy-bullying-target, off-white cream tuxedo, and the dark burgundy bowtie.

In one picture of that day, I’m scared and sweaty, holding a rosary and placing my other hand on my heart. I looked nervous, ashamed, and embarrassed for all the sins I had committed until that day,  being born one I didn’t have control over, but, apparently, the most offensive of them all.

Even though I was nervous, ashamed, and embarrassed, I was prepared.

Along with all the prayers, hymns, and responses I learned, I read about all the times when Jesus or Mary showed up to children and true devouts.

At the time, I was both.

But the idea of any of these two characters stopping by for a visit terrified me. I wanted nothing to do with them.

I have nothing against the pair.

If you can get past the blood and tears, they always seem to be sporting in paintings and sculptures; they look like amenable white people. The kind you would see on university campuses with post-doctorate degrees and playing Hacky Sack.

And usually, I appreciate a good convo with a stranger. But as a rule, I’m never too trustful of people who appear out of thin air.

That night, my sister and I stayed in my mom’s bed; a typical occurrence since my parent's divorce the year before.

My mom and my sister fell asleep, but I couldn’t. I saw a blue light coming from the hallway.

I knew the Virgin had come to visit me.

To this day, I don’t know if the Virgin was there or if the lights of the street seeped through our tiny apartment windows.

Maybe the Virgin did appear and thought, “I did my part. Now that little jerk needs to get his ass out of bed and come meet me. There is only so much a virgin can do."

But I wasn’t interested in meeting her. I didn’t want the burden of communicating to the world how it would end, which, based on what I learned, was what these impromptu meetings were all about. 

“No, thank you!!!” I thought and pretended to be asleep. 

Thank you for reading the first essay in this series, "The Virgin Can Be Scarier Than an Atomic Iguana."

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