(no subject)

I was walking back from my physics lab today, chin tucked against the bite of the drizzle, when I looked up at a flagpole to see the flag flying at half-staff. What's today? I thought.

Oh. Oh.

I can't believe it's been five years.

I made a sharp right turn from the flagpole and into St. Paul's Catholic Church, not quite sure where my feet were taking me but not about to resist because my religious compulsions are few and far between. Five o'clock mass had started a half-hour earlier, so I stood awkwardly outside the radius of those attending and sent up a little prayer, just in case, you know.

Mary's eyes found mine, mourned into them until I took a step backwards, blinked, looked away. Her son bled on the wall across from her. I imagined being in her place, staring at her crucified child for eternity. I thought about smoke and the way metal crumples and what I would say to my mother if I had only ten minutes to live. I thought about people who find the Madonna in grilled cheese and wondered what sort of faith, what sort of desperation, they must know.

I thought about joining Mass.

I turned around and pushed out the front doors, into the falling rain.