Through me you enter into eternal pain,
Through me you enter the population of loss.
Abandon all hope, you who enter here.”
-Dante’s Inferno
Ever since I lied to my Priest about brushing my teeth during my First Reconciliation, I’ve been 110% sure I’m going to Hell. He asked me what I wanted to confess and I just stared back at him, cloaked in terrified silence. “Well,” he started, “Do you always mind your Mother?” I answered "yes" truthfully. “Have you ever stolen anything?” I said no, frankly insulted that he had even insinuated something so appalling. “Do you always brush your teeth when your Mother tells you to?” Oh God. How did he know? “Uhhhhh…yes.” I lied looking down at my Velcro-fastened shoes in horror. I tossed and turned that night knowing my fate was sealed. I was screwed. There was no way I was going to sit on a cloud watching as much Famous Jet Jackson as I wanted while Angels taught my Polly Pockets to talk after what I had just done. As I grew up I always knew in the back of my mind that I probably didn’t stand a chance. In high school, as I stamped out the Camel Number 9 I was pretending to smoke with my Catholic school required loafer, I knew I had just solidified that fact even more. The thing was, I just didn’t know what form “Hell” would come in. I mean I thought I did. You know "fiery pit with a mean red guy screaming at you to do certain tasks" or maybe somewhere that you could only wear Crocs and you had to do a lot of math. I was wrong. Hell is a much different, much more awful place and I would see it much sooner than expected.
I’ve decided Hell is different for everyone. You know, like Satan has a Genius application or something that customizes your eternal pain. Unfortunately, mine came in the form of the pool at my apartment complex, The Cottages of Norman.
When I walked in, I knew something was off. The air smelled of stale, barf-stained fraternity tank tops and Keystone Lights. As the abrupt “clang” of the metal gate echoed behind me, I knew there was no way out. Immediately my sense of hearing was compromised, deafening my brain with the sounds of "Party Rock Anthem" mashed up with something that sounded like Pit Bull mashed up with Barry Manilow mashed up with a baby crying mashed up with Pink Floyd mashed up with Gladys Knight mashed up with the sounds of take off on the first Apollo mission mashed up with The Jackson 5 mashed up with Mel Gibson’s voicemail to his ex-wife. I knew this was sent to weaken me for the attack.
I did my best to make it to a lounge chair, wading through the piles of passed out guys named Chad and other bros that weren’t up to the first challenge of the Under World, “Day Drankin’.” I laid down bracing myself for the next phase of the swimming pool prep process, trying my best to ignore the too-loud conversations of the overly tanned and perfectly groomed. The next thing I heard was “No, but like I’m for real. If he’s gonna be all about her than I’m def. going to make out with that half-Iranian guy that’s been texting me. It’s like 'let me live'….. ya know? YOLO and all that. You think you can smoke weed with your ex after I repeatedly asked you not to and I’m just gonna be like 'yeah, sure honey, I’ll do your laundry and hook up with you whenever?’ So over it. Like already done. Like unclear as to why I'm just now over it.”
At that point I thought maybe it was a good idea to swim and take my mind off things. I tried to be sexy as I walked over to the pool but the pavement was so hot I just ended up looking like a scene from Bridget Jones’ Diary or something. Once I got in, the pool was so incredibly packed that swimming had become a mere pipe dream. It was like a battle zone, but with a lot more over-the-swimsuit fondling. The worst part was I had absolutely no idea what to do with my hands. Do I put them at my sides? Do I cross my arms? Do I use them to subtly dance? Like seriously, what do I do with my hands? I decided to just throw them straight into the air and make unbreakable eye contact with every well-manicured sorostitute that came my way, showing them that I would not back down. It was every man for himself. I climbed out and dangled my pale legs from the edge. I gazed down at the murky water filled with urine, beer cans and tanning oil, briefly catching a glimpse of my reflection. A tear came to my eye. “I WANT ANOTHER CHANCE!” I screamed at water Katherine. “PLEASE GOD GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE!” Then suddenly the heavens opened up and an angel dropped down in the most unlikely form. “You can’t have glass by the pool”, she barked glancing at my drink, “leave.”
I’ve literally never missed Mass since.
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