"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been..." I hung my head down as I knelt there

in the tiny, suffocating box. The stuffy air was reaching down into my throat and sucking up

the words I wanted to say before I was even ready to say them. I closed my eyes and

scratched my head. "I don't remember how long it's been since my last confession."

     "Hmmm." A few minutes of uncomfortable silence passed before the priest added, "That's

not good."

     I peered through the little holes in the screen that separated me from him, but I couldn't

make out the features of his face. Did I know him? He didn't sound too young, but he didn't

have a weak and shaky voice like an old man either.

     "Could you tell me your sins, son?" he continued.

     I released a long breath but tried to keep it quiet so that I wouldn't sound too anxious,

even though this was the place to express anxiety. "See...that's the thing. I don't remember

what they are."

     "How come?"

     "I'm having a little trouble remembering a lot of things, Father. That's why I'm here. It's

not to confess my sins. It's to confess that I don't REMEMBER my sins. I don't even

remember whether I am Catholic. I don't remember anything. I was hoping you could help

me."

     "Do you at least remember your name?"

     "No. I woke up this morning with no memory of who I was last night or what happened

before I fell asleep. There was no one in the house with me. No sign of a woman living there.

No jewelry or jewelry box, no women's clothing, and no make-up. So I guess I'm not

married. I don't know whether I have any other family."

     "Why didn't you go to the police, son?"

     "Because...what if I committed a horrendous crime, and the police are out there looking

for me?"