The Cathedral

mandala, markers, fabriano quadrato artist journal, jessica doyle art, drawing, ink, sketchbook, sketch, pen

A short fictional story…

A simple handshake made her heart flutter… made her exhale and unable to inhale and she hasn’t been quite the same since.

On Christmas Eve everything changed. I felt electricity flowing when I turned and shook your hand and wished you Merry Christmas near the end of Mass. I haven’t been the same since. That ‘flutter’ still exists. I still didn’t know who you were. I don’t believe this has ever happened before to me.

And then you shot around the pew that separated us as the congregation stood to form lines to receive the sacrement. I couldn’t help but smile and talk to you. I know it was church and that you are not supposed to talk but your smile made me melt and your eyes mirrored what I felt. It was so cliché that I asked what your name was saying that you look familiar and did we attend high school together?

I felt blood rush to my head and nothing else existed but your smile, your face, your bright shining eyes your and second handshake upon introducing yourself while I introduced myself to you. My nerves exploded.

And we did attend high school together. We were in law class together.

You told me you worked in Alberta at the tar sands and that you had a house on the Old Rothesay Road.

I told you I bought a house over East and that I was an artist. You asked if that was hard and I said “At times” but that I rent rooms too, to supplement my income.

We walked down the length of the pew and joined the moving throngs of Catholics in the central main aisle to receive the sacrement. I wanted to keep talking… I wanted to hold your hand… wanted to scream I like you… wanted to put words to what I was feeling inside.

You had said that you likely wouldn’t be attending the 20th high school reunion but that you might attend the 25th in 2016.

I walked back to the pew after communion and the heat creeping over my body was almost more than I could endure, while kneeling to pray. When I rose to sit you were still kneeling behind me. I could barely breath. The rushes never stopped. Then the congregation rose to sing the processional hymn Silent Night. I’m singing and thinking that I need you! How do I get in touch with you.

When people began to leave the service and began talking amongst each other I turned to you and dug out a business card and gave it to you as you said you weren’t on Facebook. My folk’s were leaving and I had to go with them. I walked slowly from the church and then outside into the frigid Winter air darting my eyes to see if I could catch another glimpse of you. I didn’t see you. My mind wrestless with thoughts. Is he married? Is he single? I can’t believe I dug out a business card in church and gave it to a man.

mandala, markers, fabriano quadrato artist journal, jessica doyle art, drawing, ink, pen

I climbed into the back seat of the car while dad climbed into the front. We waited for mom. Then you walked in front of the car, crossed over and got into the drivers side of a beige pick-up truck, alone and sat there staring across at the headlights of the car I was in. And I stared back at the dark truck you were in. I wanted to jump out and run over to you. All I could do was stare and hope that you’d contact me via my website contact page as there was no phone number listed on the business card that I had given you earlier.

A star from fell from the sky that night after mass while she stood on the backyard deck around midnight.

Christmas Eve came and went.

I drew the pen marker drawing inside a Fabriano Quadrato Artist Journal on the 23rd of December while thinking about skyscrapers and how humans are stacked one on top of the other within them and how it’s better to live on the upper most floors where the street noise is faint and water and sewer pipes are not continuously flowing within the walls.

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4 thoughts on “The Cathedral

  1. And this is a fictional story, right? ;)

    I like the almost-accidental spelling of “world” in your drawing, because like a Freudian slip of the fingers, it could mean The Word. Seeing as your modern love story takes place within a church. :P

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