WM.121.10
"But Ma, we went to church last week." Twelve year old Conner pouted and raised his eyes pleadingly to the woman currently straightening his twin's tie.
Murphy nodded. "And the week before that, and the week before that, and every other week." His eyes bulged as their mother gave the tie a final, strangling tug.
"I don't care if you went to church every day," she growled, picking up a comb to attack Conner's unruly cowlick. "So you can piss and moan all you want, and you're still going."
"But Ma," Conner protested. He flinched and fell silent as the comb cracked sharply on the top of his head.
Murphy, safely out of her reach, rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "It's so boring. All that standing and kneeling makes my knees hurt."
"How come we have to go every week?" Conner ventured, trying to keep a wary eye on the comb. "No one else's parents make them."
Rosaleen McManus heaved a sigh. Putting down the comb, she studied the twins critically. "I know you boys don't want to go, but I promised your da I'd raise you right, and I won't have you raising Cain like those little hellions in Belfast." A sad look crossed her face. "Will you do it for me, boys?"
Conner hated it when their mother used their da to guilt-trip them into something. It might have been different had they known the man, but he'd left when they were still too young to remember. He scowled. "Jesus, Ma - "
The sad look vanished instantly and her hand moved faster than he thought possible, boxing his ear hard enough that everything went silent before they started ringing. One ear stuffed with cotton, he could still m out her words. "Don't ever let me hear you take the Lord's name in vain ever again, Conner Timothy McManus! You hear me?"
Still deaf, Conner nodded. "Yes, Mother."
"Good boys." She beamed. "Now give me two minutes peace, and we'll be off."
Once outside, no amount of swearing, threatening, and bribing could keep the twins from racing hell-bent down the street in front of their mother. They grappled, shoved each other into garden walls as they ran, and threw rocks and other miscellaneous bits of things. Murphy even threw a slim-covered old sock that left a foul black stain on his hand and Conner's khaki pants where it connected.
"You look like the Devil his own self," their mother whispered loudly, trying in vain to wipe a black smear of some oily substance off Conner's cheek as they took their seats in the middle pew of the old church. Murphy's tie had vanished, Conner's hair looked as if he'd slept on it, their polished shoes were scuffed, and their nice church clothes were filthy with a ragged hole torn out of the knee of Conner's dirty pants.
Several people turned to watch the commotion. Or it might have been because of the faint smell of rotting fish emanating from one of the stains. "You boys want to be the death of me?" she asked, noticing the attention and trying to ignore it.
As they knelt to say their prayers, the twins shared a wicked grin. The look quickly devolved into a fit of quiet giggles, and earned Conner another cuff on the ear from their mother. He flicked teasingly flicked his brother in the nose before they reluctantly resumed their almost-silent prayers.
Murphy nodded. "And the week before that, and the week before that, and every other week." His eyes bulged as their mother gave the tie a final, strangling tug.
"I don't care if you went to church every day," she growled, picking up a comb to attack Conner's unruly cowlick. "So you can piss and moan all you want, and you're still going."
"But Ma," Conner protested. He flinched and fell silent as the comb cracked sharply on the top of his head.
Murphy, safely out of her reach, rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "It's so boring. All that standing and kneeling makes my knees hurt."
"How come we have to go every week?" Conner ventured, trying to keep a wary eye on the comb. "No one else's parents make them."
Rosaleen McManus heaved a sigh. Putting down the comb, she studied the twins critically. "I know you boys don't want to go, but I promised your da I'd raise you right, and I won't have you raising Cain like those little hellions in Belfast." A sad look crossed her face. "Will you do it for me, boys?"
Conner hated it when their mother used their da to guilt-trip them into something. It might have been different had they known the man, but he'd left when they were still too young to remember. He scowled. "Jesus, Ma - "
The sad look vanished instantly and her hand moved faster than he thought possible, boxing his ear hard enough that everything went silent before they started ringing. One ear stuffed with cotton, he could still m out her words. "Don't ever let me hear you take the Lord's name in vain ever again, Conner Timothy McManus! You hear me?"
Still deaf, Conner nodded. "Yes, Mother."
"Good boys." She beamed. "Now give me two minutes peace, and we'll be off."
Once outside, no amount of swearing, threatening, and bribing could keep the twins from racing hell-bent down the street in front of their mother. They grappled, shoved each other into garden walls as they ran, and threw rocks and other miscellaneous bits of things. Murphy even threw a slim-covered old sock that left a foul black stain on his hand and Conner's khaki pants where it connected.
"You look like the Devil his own self," their mother whispered loudly, trying in vain to wipe a black smear of some oily substance off Conner's cheek as they took their seats in the middle pew of the old church. Murphy's tie had vanished, Conner's hair looked as if he'd slept on it, their polished shoes were scuffed, and their nice church clothes were filthy with a ragged hole torn out of the knee of Conner's dirty pants.
Several people turned to watch the commotion. Or it might have been because of the faint smell of rotting fish emanating from one of the stains. "You boys want to be the death of me?" she asked, noticing the attention and trying to ignore it.
As they knelt to say their prayers, the twins shared a wicked grin. The look quickly devolved into a fit of quiet giggles, and earned Conner another cuff on the ear from their mother. He flicked teasingly flicked his brother in the nose before they reluctantly resumed their almost-silent prayers.