Spring 2024 Issue 25
Joe McAvoy – Fiction
Church bells rang out the noon Angelus. The ringing is automated now, someone told me. That’s not change. They still clang at their appointed hours. Two ropes used to hang down a long open chute behind a closed door in the sacristy. You could look all the way up the chute and see the clappers dangling in the bowls. “Don’t let him get you in there,” one of the older boys told me the first time I served Mass with Byrnes. I don’t pray anymore. That’s changed.
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