“And if I asked you a question, would you give me an honest answer?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Well, how is it any different from confession then? What you tell me stays between us and God, and you have someone to speak to if you ever want to talk to someone other than Em.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Father, but why does Danny think you’ll be better than an actual psychologist?” I asked him curiously.
“Because you’ll actually talk to me and I’ll know when you’re lying. With a psychologist, Danny thinks you’d either tell him what you think he needs to hear or not speak to him at all.”
“Don’t you think being angry is a good thing when you’re getting in the ring?” I asked him. He put down his papers and looked at me in a way that made me feel like a clueless little kid.
“Holding on to your anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die,” he told me.
“That’s a bit deep, isn’t it?”
“Well, Buddha knows his stuff.”
I let what he’d said sink in for a moment before making my first confession. “I’m not sure I know how to fight without the anger.”
“As long as I’ve known you, it’s been a big part of who you are. But you went from a good fighter to a great fighter the day you met Em, and that tells me it’s the love that fuels you more than the hate.” I never thought of it like that but maybe he had a point.
“Now,” he said shuffling his papers as he put on his reading glasses.
“Think about the last time you reacted in an unhealthy or negative way to anger. What happened right before you got angry?” He read the question out slowly like the font was too small to read but he looked up expectantly when he was done.
I glanced down at his lap and there were several pages of questions to answer. “Father, where did you get all these questions from?”
“That Google is brilliant isn’t it? Kieran sorted me out with a laptop when he got Danny that satellite TV. I tell you, I have email and Twitter and everything. Absolutely marvelous contraption it is.”
“You’ve got a Twitter account?” I asked skeptically. I didn’t even have email, and my parish priest-slash-anger management counsellor had a Twitter account.
“Oh yes. I have over three hundred followers.”
“You’re kidding?” I was stunned.
“It appears to be mostly ladies following me, which I put down to the picture of me as a younger man wearing my kilt that I tweeted. Fine set of legs I had back then so I can’t say I blame them.”
“But you’re a priest!” I blurted out, horrified at the idea of Father Pat with his harem of Twitter followers.
“Aye,” he said as he leaned over to wink at me conspiratorially. “But that’s what makes me attractive, you see. I’m unattainable. They all want what they can’t have.” There were absolutely no words to respond to that.
“Next question. What is the one behavior you most want to avoid when you experience anger?” He read out the question slowly again, and I closed my eyes with a groan knowing that this was going to be very long and painful.
*
“Which one of you fuckers shot me?” Tommy whined like a little girl. Kieran sniggered next to me, making me smile. Turns out that my session with Father Pat had made me feel better. Like confession, it was cathartic, and it did me good to off load. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as good therapy as shooting Tommy in the arse with a pink paintball. When Kieran came up with the idea to welcome Earnshaw to the gym, I was skeptical. Now that I’d hit Tommy, I thought it was a brilliant idea. We were split into two teams with me, Kier, and Earnshaw on one side and Liam, Tommy, and John, a friend of Kier’s looking to join Driscoll’s, on the other.
“What’s the plan?” whispered Earnshaw. He held his weapon tightly as he surveyed the forest ahead. You’d think he was in training for the special forces given how seriously he was taking this thing.
“I need to shoot you,” I told him, and he scrambled away from me looking alarmed. Kier just about pissed himself laughing. Rolling my eyes, I explained. “The whole way here you’ve been stressing about how much getting shot hurts. You’re so wound up now you’re about ready to snap. If I shoot you, you’ll know how much pain to expect, and you won’t be so upright anymore.” I could see by the look on his face that he knew I was right.
“Where are you going do it?” he asked.
“Pretty much everywhere hurts,” I explained. “But it’s more painful the closer you get.”
“I don’t know, back maybe?” he suggested, nervously. Sucking in breath, Kier winced exaggeratedly.
“I wouldn’t do that either, my friend. You won’t sleep for a week if you can’t lie down.”
“Chest then?” Earnshaw suggested. I wasn’t known for my patience so, while he was making up his mind, I shot him in the thigh.