IN LOVE WITH A PRIEST

She still clasped her hands and bowed her head while processing for Holy Communion. She, who was about my age when I first received Holy Communion, whose oblong face reminded me of the flower vase in our living room. The flower vase was, unlike most flower vases, plain and 'straight to the point'. When my father brought it to the house I imagined the potter must have thought 'why distract people's attention from the flower with so much decoration on the vase?' So he, the potter, didn't do much decorating on the vase. I knew it was 'he'. I knew, the same way I knew my relationship with my ex wouldn't last for long. 

On the day of my first Holy Communion, we were made to proceed in two lines. I had observed 'the priest' from the altar and stood by the side I felt he would give Holy Communion and prayed God to make my guess right. This new priest, was dark and tall. Handsome most importantly, and kept neat afro. His lips were also the same color as mine. There were three priests or so I couldn't worry myself about the others, they weren't my spec (a word I later learnt can be used to describe someone's type).

God answered my prayer. He was the one to give me Holy Communion. As he came closer my heart raced, and when finally it was my turn, I felt I would faint. When he said "body and blood of Christ", I wasn't thinking of Christ. I was thinking of his own body and blood. I wondered how his body and blood would taste. And though our catechism instructor had advised us against getting distracted during mass, I couldn't help this.
"Look unto the image of the crucified Christ on the altar anytime you feel you're getting distracted,"  our catechism instructor advised during one of our catechism classes. I tried to un-distract myself by looking to the crucified Christ, but 'the priest' stood between me and the crucifix.
"Body and blood of Christ", he said again. His voice jolting me back to my senses. "Amen", I replied.
I imagined it was his body and blood I received while I sipped from the chalice and pretended to swallow the Holy Communion. It tasted so good.
I tucked the Holy Communion under my tongue and chipped it into bits every 5 minutes making sure not to bite much at a time. It was my only contact with 'the priest' and I had to keep it for long. 

This priest I would come to learn later goes by the name Melchizedek. I gave him a  pet name in my head- M. We would later become friends and he would  kiss me. Kiss me on my forehead and tell me how beautiful I was and how nice it was that I was an altar server. How it was good to know that I loved God much enough to serve Him on His altar. He would advice me to keep it up. I felt anew when he told me I  was beautiful and I wanted to tell him I loved him. Loved him from the very moment I saw him on the altar. I wanted to tell him that I loved the feel of his skin on mine whenever we embraced, but I couldn't because I knew I was wrong to love a priest. I knew I was wrong to even have such feelings at my age.

I went for confessions every week because I wanted to receive Holy Communion. I received Holy Communion because I liked the electricity that traveled through my spines whenever his finger brushed against my lips. I liked the taste of the Holy Communion too.

The next Sunday I didn't see M. I didn't wish to receive Holy Communion this time, but I went to the altar hoping that M would be there by the time I got there. The joke was on me. The Holy Communion didn't taste sweet this time around. In fact it tasted bitter and sorrowful. It tasted like the pains Jesus must have gone through on the cross. I was to feel that pain for the rest of my life. Until this Sunday. 
It's been 10 years, but I still feel the same way about him.
"After mass I'll meet him", I say to myself.
I do and he recognizes me...