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Chapter XXI: Christ the King
Liz drifts into slumber, and as the darkness of sleep fades, she finds herself walking alongside Bennett. The warm glow of streetlights bathes the sidewalk, and the cool night air carries the scent of fresh pastries from a nearby bakery. She looks up at him, and for the first time in a while, she feels at peace.
"Where are we going?" Liz asks, watching as Bennett pulls out his phone, eyes scanning the screen.
"We'll figure it out," he says with a playful smirk.
"For now, just enjoy the night."
Liz leans into his arm as they continue down the street. The gentle hum of the city surrounds them, blending seamlessly with the sound of their laughter. They stop by an arcade, drawn in by the flashing neon lights and the enticing sounds of victory jingles.
"Let's try that one!" Bennett points at the ball-in-a-hole game.
Liz grins.
"You're on."
They each take turns rolling the ball up the ramp, aiming for the highest-scoring holes. Liz lands several perfect shots, while Bennett, despite his best efforts, remains just a few points behind.
"Unbelievable," he mutters as Liz giggles.
"Just admit it, I'm better."
"Beginner's luck."
They exchange playful banter before finally presenting their tickets at the prize counter. Liz eyes the plushies behind the glass case, her heart set on a cute purple one. Bennett hands over their tickets, and the attendant retrieves it for them.
"For you," he says, placing it in her hands.
Liz smiles.
"Thank you, Bennett."
Their next stop is a small printing press. As Bennett steps inside to make some photocopies, Liz's attention is drawn to the adjacent shop filled with religious items. She steps in, admiring the intricate sculptures and framed artworks depicting saints. Her eyes land on an image of Jesus seated on a throne.
"That's Christ the King," Bennett's voice startles her.
Liz turns to see him standing beside her, hands in his pockets.
"Christ the King?" she echoes.
"Yeah," he nods, stepping closer to the display.
"There's going to be a huge celebration in San Guillermo for the feast. My mom just texted me about it."
Liz's eyes light up.
"That sounds amazing! We should go."
Bennett chuckles.
"It’s just one town over. Not that far."
She nudges him.
"Still, it’s an adventure."
The dream shifts, and suddenly, she and Bennett are standing in San Guillermo. The grandeur of the cathedral looms over them, its stained glass windows illuminated by the late afternoon sun. The mass is in full swing, and as the archbishop delivers his homily, Liz feels something stir deep within her. A realization, a clarity that she had been blind to before.
She turns to Bennett, and as the final hymn echoes through the cathedral, they step outside to the courtyard. The tension between them from a previous misunderstanding lingers, but as Liz looks into his eyes, she feels the weight of it lift.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, stepping closer.
Bennett hesitates for a moment before pulling her into an embrace.
"Me too."
She clings to him, burying her face in his chest. The world around them fades, leaving only the warmth of his arms and the steady beat of his heart.
And then—
Liz gasps as her eyes fly open. The warmth is gone. The cathedral, the crowd, Bennett—everything disappears, leaving only the dim glow of her bedroom. A lump forms in her throat as she wipes away the tears trickling down her cheeks. Her heart aches in a way she can’t describe.
A notification buzzes on her phone. Groggily, she reaches for it, blinking at the message displayed on the screen.
“Tomorrow, we leave for Rancheria for the Christ the King celebration.”
Her breath catches.
"Rancheria…?" she murmurs.
It wasn’t San Guillermo, but still… it felt like more than just a coincidence.
She turns to her bedside table, where a framed photo of Bennett rests. With a trembling hand, she picks it up, brushing her fingers along the glass.
"Bennett… there's a big event happening tomorrow," she whispers.
"I wish you were here."
Tears well up in her eyes again. She presses a gentle kiss to the corner of the frame before placing it back in its spot. As she closes her eyes, she prays—not just for Bennett, but for strength, for guidance, and for the hope that one day, she’ll see him again.
Liz wakes up early, the anticipation buzzing in her chest as she carefully folds her cassock and surplice, placing them inside her bag. Her grandma watches her with a small smile, adjusting her shawl before they head out. The morning air is crisp, the sky painted in soft pastels as they make their way to Ciudad Fernandina.
Upon arrival, a large bus waits by the parish gates. Liz sees some familiar faces, including Wyn, who waves excitedly. She hurries over, and they sit together near the middle of the bus.
"Excited?" Wyn asks, nudging her playfully.
Liz nods.
"Yeah, but also a little nervous. It’s Christ the King, and Rancheria is huge."
Bro. Padilla boards the bus, scanning the seats before nodding approvingly.
“Alright, settle down, everyone. We leave now. Let’s make this a meaningful trip.”
Liz’s grandma bids her farewell, pressing a gentle hand against her cheek.
“God bless you, Hija. Do well.”
The bus hums to life, pulling away from Ciudad Fernandina and heading south. As they travel, Liz notices the occasional glance from some of the boys at the back. She shifts uncomfortably. At one point, a hand brushes against her arm—too deliberate to be an accident.
Her breath catches, but before she can react, Wyn glares at the boy and immediately swaps seats with her, placing Liz by the window.
“You okay?” Wyn whispers.
Liz nods stiffly.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Wyn scoffs.
“Bunch of idiots.”
The rest of the ride is filled with quiet chatter and the murmurs of prayer. As they approach Rancheria, the towering church comes into view, perched majestically atop a hill. Its white and cream facade gleams under the sun, reflecting the grandeur of the occasion. Chandeliers glisten through the arched windows, and outside, a stage is set up on the church lawn, prepared for the grand event.
The group disembarks and is ushered inside to prepare. The choir rehearses, the servers review their roles, and the air is thick with both excitement and reverence. As more people arrive, the magnitude of the event sinks in. The archbishop is expected to arrive shortly, and every movement feels heavier with importance.
“Breathe,” Wyn whispers to Liz.
“We’ve got this.”
Liz nods, gripping the edge of her cassock. The bells ring, and the procession begins. The archbishop enters, and the mass commences.
During the homily, the archbishop steps forward, his voice carrying through the speakers with warmth and authority.
“Today, we celebrate Christ the King. But what does it mean for Christ to reign in our lives?” he asks, scanning the crowd.
“Many of us strive for perfection. We want to be the best, to be flawless, to never make mistakes. But let me remind you—perfection does not exist in this world. Only Christ is perfect. And yet, He does not ask us for perfection. He asks us for love, for faith, and for humility.”
Liz listens intently, his words resonating deep within her. She clenches her fists, memories of her past mistakes rushing back. Her selfishness, her stubbornness, the way she used to push people away.
The archbishop continues,
“To acknowledge one another, to love despite flaws, to forgive even when it’s hard—this is the true essence of Christ’s reign in our hearts.”
Liz swallows the lump in her throat. Wyn nudges her gently.
“You’ve changed, Liz. You’re not that person anymore.”
Liz meets her eyes.
“I hope so.”
The mass proceeds, and Liz finds herself praying silently, asking for strength, for guidance. As the final hymn plays, she and Wyn serve diligently, assisting where needed. Bro. Padilla commends them afterward, offering a proud nod.
“You did well,” he tells them.
The bus ride back is quieter, the exhaustion settling in. Liz stares out the window, the events of the day playing in her mind. When they arrive at Ciudad Fernandina, she bids Wyn goodbye and heads home, where her aunts and grandma wait to hear about the celebration.
Over dinner, she recounts the homily, her duties, and how the experience moved her. Her grandma listens with a knowing smile.
“That’s the power of faith, Hija. It opens our hearts.”
Later that night, Liz sits at her desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. The emotions swirl inside her, and she begins to write.
Dear Bennett,
Today was Christ the King. I served, just like you used to. And during the homily, something hit me—I’ve been holding onto so much guilt. I’ve been blaming myself for the things I did, for the things I didn’t do. But today, I realized… maybe God never wanted me to be perfect. Maybe He just wanted me to grow.
I remember how you always told me that in everything we do, we should put our hearts into it. That music, service, even our prayers—they should be filled with meaning, not just empty words or actions. And today, I tried. I really tried. I sang with my heart, I served with sincerity. And you know what? It felt real. It felt right.
I miss you. Every single day, I miss you. And I wonder—are you proud of me? Have I become someone you’d still want to be with? I hope so. Because today, as I looked up at the altar, I felt like you were there, somewhere, smiling at me.
Wherever you are, I hope you’re safe. And I hope, one day, I’ll see you again.
Love, Liz.
She exhales, placing the letter beside her. Reaching for Bennett’s picture, she presses it to her chest, closing her eyes as a silent prayer escapes her lips.
Then, she places the picture on her desk, kisses it gently, and crawls into bed, the echoes of the day lulling her into sleep.
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