Episode transcript - “he gave me a worm”

ADAM RAYMONDA: Forgive Me! Season 4, Episode 3: He Gave Me A Worm

[SFX: Father Ben shuffles through papers in his office as he rushes to finish the boring, essential work of running a parish.]

ISABEL: [SFX: Knocking] Knock knock.

FR. BEN: Give me just a sec. Finishing up the church budget report here.

ISABEL: (After a beat) Knock knock.

FR. BEN: (Sounds of scribbling) Be right with you! Just about…done. 

[SFX: Ben puts his pen down.]

ISABEL: That’s not the right response to that, Father.

FR. BEN: Excuse me?

ISABEL: Knock knock.

FR. BEN: Who’s…there?

ISABEL: Isabel.

FR. BEN: Isabel? I don’t know any-

ISABEL: Father.

FR. BEN: Oh, uh, Isabel who?

ISABEL: Isabel broken? I had to knock! (Starts chortling)

FR. BEN: Ah, because you were knocking…ha, good one.

ISABEL: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know my jokes can be off-putting, but that’s my favorite way to introduce myself.

FR. BEN: Ha, no need to apologize for having a sense of humor. So, your name is actually Isabel?

ISABEL: Since the day I chose it. You gonna let me in?

FR. BEN: Oh, right! Of course. (Opens his office door) Make yourself at—ah!

ISABEL: (Footsteps squelching with mud as she’s entering) Now I know what you’re thinking—what hole did this lady crawl out of? (Conspiratorially) That would be Mr. McAllister’s grave.

FR. BEN: Is that another joke?

ISABEL: No, that’s my job. You don’t recognize me?

FR. BEN: …Should I?

ISABEL: Probably not. My trademark mud and grime usually makes me blend in with the cemetery, though I do consider us colleagues, Father.

FR. BEN: You work in the cemetery?

ISABEL: Isabel Marquez, freelance gravedigger. Most of the time, I’m usually concerned with the nitty gritty details of plopping someone six feet under, but I’ve listened in to some of your funeral services and I have to say…they were beautiful.

FR. BEN: Oh! Thank you.

ISABEL: Really got me thinking on the spiritual side of what I do.

FR. BEN: Well, there’s more where that came from if you attend one of our Masses.

[SFX: Isabel bursts out laughing. Fr. Ben joins her, confused.]

ISABEL: Didn’t know you had a funny bone too, Father! Granted, funeral services tend to require you to be grave, am I right?

FR. BEN: Heh, yes they do.

ISABEL: Anyway, Father Ben, I know I’m not one of your parishioners, but last I heard you can go to any old priest for confession.

FR. BEN: That’s right. You’re catching me at a bit of a bad time, though. Would you mind returning on Wednesday at around 11 during our regular hours?

ISABEL: Ah, I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see—I’ll be gone by then.

FR. BEN: Gone?

ISABEL: Not gone gone, Father, sheesh. I’m leaving town. I do that every few years and—it’s clear that it’s time. 

FR. BEN: I see. Well…I suppose now works, then. Would you like to step into the booth, or is staying in my office fine?

ISABEL: Here’s perfect. (Chair scrapes as she sits down) No offense, but stepping into that wooden box is creepier than getting closed into a casket.

FR. BEN: Alright then. (Seats himself) Ready?

ISABEL: Let ‘er rip, Tater Chip.

FR. BEN & ISABEL: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

ISABEL: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been…oof, I don’t know… Fifty years since my last confession. I had to Google the protocol for this.

FR. BEN: The Lord is always ready to welcome people back into the fold, no matter how long it’s been.

ISABEL: Even an old misanthrope like me?

FR. BEN: Of course. So…what would you like to confess?

ISABEL: It’s a bit of a long story, Father.

FR. BEN: It always is.  

ISABEL:  And, uh, a little bit awful?

FR. BEN: Oh, trust me, that is not unique. (With the confidence of the past 3 seasons behind him and the false belief that nothing’s going to surprise him anymore) I’d like to think I’ve become an old hand at listening to things that are a little bit awful. I’m not going to judge, Isabel. No matter what, I’m here to listen.

ISABEL: That’s a relief. I can start anywhere?

FR. BEN: Go right ahead.

ISABEL: Okay. So, like I said, I’m a freelance gravedigger. There’s a lot I love about my job—the fresh air, getting to work with my hands, and of course, the sweet, sweet solitude. I can go for weeks without talking to anyone with a pulse.  

FR. BEN: Sounds like you like to keep to yourself.

ISABEL: I’ve always been a bit of a loner. But you know the absolute best perk of being a gravedigger?

FR. BEN: What’s that?

ISABEL: Getting to eat the food people leave on graves.

[Silence.]

ISABEL: You okay, Father? Your face turned a little…red?

FR. BEN: It’s fine! I’m fine! I am completely OK. (Takes a deep breath) (Forcefully upbeat) So, eating the food off of people’s graves! Is that what you’d like to confess?

ISABEL: No? Why would I confess that?

FR. BEN: Oh, is that just…standard protocol in cemeteries?

ISABEL: Well, admittedly no. We’re supposed to dispose of any items left in burial grounds, but I’ve never really dug those rules. I mean, where else am I supposed to get delicious, home-cooked meals made with sweat and love?

FR. BEN: In potlucks…?

ISABEL: And it’d just be wasteful if I left the food there! It’s not like the people who’ve croaked are going to have the stomach or even the taste buds to enjoy the delectable treats that people leave. You know Carey Sison, the woman who runs the rotisserie place on Coal Road? 

[SFX: Sound of a rotating spit]

ISABEL: She puts a small roast on her cousin’s grave every month, and let me tell you, the chicken skin is divine.

[SFX: Sound of beef getting cut and flatbread scrunching as it wraps around ingredients.]

ISABEL: Jammal Hammad puts the most mouth-watering beef shawarma wraps on his mother’s tombstone and it has everything. Home-made flatbread, tender meat, freshly-picked vegetables, the works. And Maddelyn-

[SFX: Sounds abruptly end.]

FR. BEN: But doesn’t the food start to rot if left outdoors too long? I can’t imagine that’s terribly sanitary.

ISABEL: That’s true, which is why I need to remain vigilant. As soon as people are done paying their respects and leave, I rush out and snatch the food. Then I stick it in the funeral home’s fridge til I go back to my apartment.

FR. BEN: Sounds…complicated.

ISABEL: It’s just like you and your confessions, Father. I’m an old hand at it by now. (Sighs) But I’ve gotten complacent.

FR. BEN: Someone caught you?

ISABEL: In a matter of speaking. (Pause) A little over a month ago, I was asked to dig the grave of old Dalisay Rosales.

FR. BEN: I remember doing that funeral service. The whole Rosales family showed up—and they usually take up three entire pews during afternoon Mass.

ISABEL: See? We are colleagues, Father. You comfort the living while I put dirt over a corpse. Not that I think the Rosales family needed that much comforting. I remember it was one of my favorite types of services—the kind when people are a little sad, but mostly, it’s a celebration of a loved one’s life. Also, they had snacks.

FR. BEN: Of course.

ISABEL: I’m just salivating thinking about it. 

[SFX: Sound of spring rolls frying and cake getting sliced]

ISABEL: Crunchy spring rolls and cassava cake and-

[SFX: Sounds abruptly end again, faster this time as Father Ben cuts her off.]

FR. BEN: OK, I get the picture.

ISABEL: I immediately thought, if this was what the funeral snacks were like then I hope to God they’re not the stingy type that only leaves flowers on graves.

FR. BEN: I mean, traditionally, flowers are a perfectly acceptable gift-

ISABEL: It’s stingy! Trust me, Father, if your deceased relatives saw you were only putting flowers on their graves, they’d drop dead again in embarrassment.

FR. BEN: Point taken. Go on.

ISABEL: I wasn’t disappointed. The next week, while I was doing some maintenance work in the cemetery, I spotted a line of cars heading towards old Dalisay’s grave. I rushed to finish my work and then sped towards the gravesite. Got there just as the family was finishing up their visit. And as they dispersed, I saw it: a fresh, steaming batch of empanadas on a paper tray. But I also saw something else.

FR. BEN: What?

ISABEL: I’m not the only one who knows that the cemetery holds sumptuous foods, Father. They know as well. And soon as I caught sight of them, I knew it was going to be the race of my life to get old Dalisay’s empanadas.

FR. BEN: There are other people taking food off of graves?

ISABEL: Well, ‘people’ is stretching it. I’m talking about the raccoons, Father.

FR. BEN: Oh.

ISABEL: It’s all their fault that I got sloppy. Usually, I’d wait at least five minutes to make sure none of the bereaved circled back—but I saw the feisty tricksters crawling towards the grave and knew I had to act fast if I didn’t want the food to fall into their greedy little hands. The moment I thought everyone had left, I made a run for it.

[SFX: Isabel clambering out of the bushes and sprinting through the grass, breathing heavily.]

ISABEL: Unfortunately, I’m not as spry as I once was.

FR. BEN: What happened?

ISABEL: Well, it’d been raining recently.

[SFX: The sound of squelching mud as Isabel slips and shrieks as she lands.]

ISABEL: I slid on some mud, tripped, and got a face full of dirt in the process. Which wouldn’t be a problem – as you see, it’s an occupation hazard – but I also sprained my right hip.

FR. BEN: Ouch.

ISABEL: I was groaning and moaning like a ghost. But, on the bright side—I did get the empanadas!

FR. BEN: How?

ISABEL: I slid right onto the grave itself! 

[SFX: Scared raccoon sounds as they run away.]

ISABEL: The raccoons hissed and scattered, and even in my panic my instinct was to maneuver myself to not hit the food.

FR. BEN: That was your priority, huh? Keeping the food intact?

ISABEL: Exactly! And what food it was. As soon as the aroma of the empanadas hit my nose I was shoveling the pastries in my mouth. 

[SFX: Feral Isabel eating.]

[MID-ROLL AD BREAK]

ISABEL: Just couldn’t help it, Father. But that was when things got strange.

FR. BEN: (Dryly) Because this has been a perfectly normal story up to now.

ISABEL: I hear this gasp. When I look up, there’s a little kid staring right at me, eyes all wide and shocked. And when he opens his mouth, he says-

JORGE: Grandma?

FR. BEN: He thought you were Dalisay? 

ISABEL: Yep. Turns out, the kid is the youngest of the Rosales ilk. And for some strange reason, he was staring at me like—well, like I was his grandma.  

FR. BEN: What did you do?

ISABEL: Nothing, for a good minute. I just sat there with my sprained hip, on top of the grave, holding onto the empanadas and not saying a word to the kid. Guess you could say I was being cryptic, heh. Then his mom showed up.

FR. BEN: That would be Mariah Rosales.

ISABEL: That’s the one. And again, the kid goes-

JORGE: Mama, it’s grandma!

ISABEL: Of course, she doesn’t believe him. She just tells me-

MARIAH: I’m so, so sorry about this. Jorge, get in the car, now.

ISABEL: But the kid wouldn’t budge. He just keeps pointing to me and saying-

JORGE: It’s grandma, Mama, I know it! I saw her eating the empanadas!

ISABEL: Luckily, she didn’t really register that. Unluckily, they were at a stalemate. Kid kept insisting I was Dalisay – his mom kept denying it and trying to get him to leave, which, from the way he was bunching up his fists, wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. So I took matters into my own hands.

ISABEL (Past): Yep, haha, that’s me, little old Dalisay!

MARIAH: What?

JORGE: See? I told you!

ISABEL (Past): I just…wanted to greet my favorite grandkid.

JORGE: I’m your favorite?

ISABEL (Past): Uh….how many other grandkids do I have?

MARIAH: (Dryly) About twelve.

ISABEL(Past): Well, the rest of them aren’t here, so I guess it’s your lucky day, Jorge! You are my favorite grandchild.

JORGE: I knew it!

FR. BEN: I understand that you were trying to deescalate the situation, Isabel, but I’ve gotta be honest, I don’t quite get what you thought you were going to accomplish when you started impersonating a dead woman.

ISABEL: An out, Father! I was looking for an out! It seemed pretty simple. I told them-

ISABEL (PAST): (Dramatically) I just…wanted to say goodbye. Before I leave for the other side.

ISABEL: Pretty good lie, eh?

FR. BEN: Isabel, you can’t expect me to praise you for lying while you’re giving me your confession.

ISABEL: I guess not. Anyway, I thought it was foolproof. I’d pacify the kid and send them off on their merry way. But then-

JORGE: I’ll see you again before you leave, right? You’re not leaving yet!

ISABEL (PAST): What do you mean? I am too leaving, right now.

JORGE: No, Grandma. You’re supposed to stay for 40 days!

ISABEL (PAST): I…am?

MARIAH:  As you know, Mom, it’s a Filipino tradition that the soul stays down on Earth for 40 days after death—and as a family, it’s our personal tradition to visit their gravesite every week until then.

JORGE: You’re the one who taught me that!

ISABEL (PAST): Ha, was I?

JORGE: So I’ll see you again? You promise?

FR. BEN: What’d you say to him?

ISABEL: I caved, Father! Obviously! I said yes, I’d see him next week. And even then, it still wasn’t over. The worst was still to come.

FR. BEN: What could’ve possibly happened that worsened the situation?

ISABEL:  He gave me a worm.

FR. BEN: A what?

ISABEL: A jellyworm, to be fair. But the kid pulled it from the depths of his pockets, and it was sticky and half-melted and had dustmites clinging on to it. He told me-

JORGE: I saw the way you were eating those empanadas, Lola. You must be hungry!

ISABEL: And then he looked at me and waited.

FR. BEN: (Pause) So…did you…?

ISABEL: (Shuddering) I ate it, Father. I ate the rotten little jellyworm, and let me tell you, deception is a hard bug to swallow. I nearly choked. Then young Jorge gave me the biggest, happiest little kid smile, told me he’d see me next week, and skipped off to the car.

 FR. BEN: Wow.

ISABEL: That left me and his mom.

FR. BEN: What did Mariah say? 

ISABEL: Three things. One, she found the entire jellyworm thing hilarious.

MARIAH: (Laughing) I can’t believe you actually ate that worm. It’s been sitting in his overalls for weeks.

ISABEL: Second, she gave me the short explanation of why Jorge bizarrely thought I was his grandma.

MARIAH: My son has a light case of prosopagnosia. Face blindness. And you dress a lot like how his grandma did.

ISABEL: Then we figured out the details of me attending the next family gathering.

FR. BEN: Wait. So Mariah Rosales was okay with you impersonating her mother?

ISABEL: You aren’t the only one stunned by that, Father. I was expecting a restraining order. But that wasn’t the way Mariah looked at it.

MARIAH: (Lightly pleading) Jorge really is so young, and you wouldn’t believe how close he was to his grandma. It’ll just be for the next 40 days—not even then, just once a week. You wouldn’t mind too badly, right?

ISABEL (PAST): Wouldn’t this be…I don’t know…desecrating the dead or something?

MARIAH: Honestly, my mom would’ve thought all this was pretty funny.

FR. BEN: So let me get this straight. You were asked to attend a weekly mourning ritual and pretend to be the late family matriarch just to console little Jorge?

ISABEL: That’s about right.

FR. BEN: And you did it?

ISABEL: I said I would, didn’t I? For the next few weeks, every Saturday at 3PM sharp, I took myself over to Dalisay’s gravesite to impersonate her in front of her closest family and friends. 

FR. BEN: That doesn’t sound like something that would go over well.

ISABEL: Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard. I just let Mariah do the talking.

MARIAH: Everyone, look, it’s the ghost of Grandma Dalisay! Say hi!

ISABEL: The kids kind of loved it. None of them thought that I was their grandmother, like Jorge did, but I was like a weird version of Santa Claus. 

[SFX: Sounds of children chattering and laughing.]

ISABEL: They had a blast helping me carry on the charade, telling stories about their grandma while I smiled and nodded. The adults? Most of them were standoffish at first, though I think they were won over out of sheer pity when they saw what Jorge was feeding me.

FR. BEN: More jellyworms?

ISABEL: Worse. Apparently, one of the hobbies Jorge and old Dalisay bonded over was cooking random concoctions, and nothing his parents could say would deter him from presenting his awful recipes to me. The first time I visited, he insisted on feeding me a cross between a peanut butter sandwich, spaghetti and meatballs, and turnips.

JORGE: I made it specially for you!

ISABEL: Ah, thank you, Jorge. I’ll be sure to take this…food to Heaven with me.

JORGE: But I wanna see you enjoy it. 

ISABEL: I….oh, alright. (Takes a bite and gags) 

[SFX: A disgusting squelching, crunchy noise.]

FR. BEN: That sounds…pretty bad, yeah.

ISABEL: Oh, it was. Food-wise, those family meetings were torture. There I was right next to the picnic they laid out, the smells of it wafting over to where I was sitting, and yet I was stuck eating Jorge’s little monstrosities. (Pause) But, other than that? As strange as it is to say, it was kind of nice.

FR. BEN: How so?

ISABEL: Well…for a really long time, I’ve intentionally played lone wolf. I won’t give you the full sob story, Father – not that there’s really that much to sob about – but when I was younger, my parents, siblings, church…they didn’t really like how I was. The specifics varied. I was too loud, too quiet, too unladylike, or too everything. Getting along with others was never a nut I managed to crack, and others didn’t want to get along with me. So I took off, and stayed alone. Pretending to be Dalisay for Jorge? That was the closest I had to having friends for a very long time. That sounds nuts, doesn’t it?

FR. BEN:  No, it makes perfect sense. Having shared bonds with others is one of the greatest joys in life, and even though it was an unconventional situation, it sounds like you truly got to experience that.

ISABEL: Not truly. It was all fake, remember? And in the end, it blew up in my face.

FR. BEN: What happened?

ISABEL: It was on the last day. The very last day, Father, before old grandma Dalisay was supposed to head towards the pearly gates and say goodbye to Jorge permanently. We really thought – the Rosales family and I – that we could pull this charade off, cut and dry. But I messed up. I was still recovering from that sprained hip, you see. And, most days, it didn’t hurt so much, but the morning of that last family reunion I had to dig a grave for one Peter Orwell with a special request to dig it extra deep, since his bereaved widow said six feet under wasn’t far enough. That led me to take pain meds, which made me noxious from the get-go.

FR. BEN: That Mrs. Orwell sure had a funny sense of humor, didn’t she? But I think I see where this is going. What’d Jorge feed you that last time?

ISABEL: Steamed dumplings filled with cranberry, ketchup, mayonnaise, and butter.

FR. BEN: Oh, no.

ISABEL: Yep. It was a one-way ticket to vomit town as soon as I managed to bite into one, but I held it together, just about. All I had to do was get through the goodbye prayers. 

[SFX/Music: Ambient sounds of a family gathering. Soft song/hymn starts to play.]

ISABEL: There was lots of weeping, lots of laughing. I don’t much envy the bodies I put under the soil, Father, and most of me was occupied by craving the toilet, but it did fly through my noggin how nice it'd be to be loved like that. It was nice to even get a taste of it. I thought I’d leave as soon as that little ritual was over. But the Rosales family? Each of them wanted to shake my hand before I left. Even the ones that were iffy at first. I guess in that way, I was still a stand-in for Dalisay—which wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t on the verge of throwing up. 

[SFX/Music: Song fades out.]

ISABEL: Still, I kept it together. Bile was crawling up my throat, but I wasn’t going to let it win. There was only Jorge left. I held out my hand, which he refused. Instead, he ran straight at me to give one, huge, very, very, very, tight hug.

FR. BEN: And you- 

ISABEL: Yeah. I spilled my guts all over the kid. 

[SFX: Isabel vomits directly onto Jorge, who screams in terror.]

ISABEL: (Sighs) And apparently, that was the wake-up call for Jorge.

JORGE: (Tearfully) You’re not my grandma!

ISABEL (PAST): W-what are you talking about, kid? Of course I am-

JORGE: Ghosts don’t throw up!

ISABEL: I mean, they don’t eat either last I checked, but the minds of little kids work in mysterious ways, I guess.

FR. BEN: What’d you do?

ISABEL: What I do best, Father Ben. I ran. I left the venue with the kid sobbing hysterically. And then put up my apartment for rent.

FR. BEN: Wait, that’s why you’re leaving town? Because you upset Jorge Rosales?

ISABEL: I’ve left town for smaller things, Father. Once, I high-tailed it out of Glendale cuz when a waiter told me to have a good meal, I said, “you too!”

FR. BEN: I still think this is going too far. Even if you left Jorge upset, I don’t think the family you befriended would want you to leave like that.

ISABEL: They don’t.

FR. BEN: What?

ISABEL: All this happened a week ago. Since then, Mariah’s been leaving voicemails.

[SFX: Phone voice mail beep.]

MARIAH:  I am so sorry for what happened. I promise none of it was your fault.  The whole thing was crazy anyway, I just—didn’t know how to properly support my son through the whole mess of his first experience with grief, you know? But I promise, Jorge is getting the real help he needs, and all of us would love to have you over for dinner sometime. Anyway, call me back?

[SFX: Phone voice mail beep.]

ISABEL: And apparently, these notes are being left for me at the front desk of the funeral home.

[SFX: Paper shuffles as Isabel passes a series of notes to Fr. Ben.]

FR. BEN: “I’m sorry I made you puke, graveyard lady,” “It’s OK you’re not Grandma” “I will make you burritos with gummy bears” …I take it these are from Jorge?

ISABEL: Yeah.

FR. BEN: Isabel, this family is offering you forgiveness already, as well as asking for yours. Can I ask why you’re not taking them up on their offer?

ISABEL: Father, I chose to do the pretending. And deep down? I know I didn’t do it for Mariah or even for Jorge. I just wanted to be part of something again. But that never works out for me. I just want to apologize for dragging the Rosales family into my little psychodrama. 

FR. BEN: So you’re here to ask for forgiveness…without going to the family directly?

ISABEL: That’s how this entire thing works, right?

FR. BEN: Not exactly. Confession can give you absolution, sure. But tell me, Isabel: is saying you’re sorry to some random priest, even if that priest is presently serving as a representative for God, really going to satisfy you?

ISABEL: How would you know what I want, Father?

FR. BEN: Because it’s the same thing everyone wants.

ISABEL: Which is?

FR. BEN: At the risk of being presumptuous? A nice, home-cooked meal.

ISABEL: Oh. Well, I wouldn’t say that’s wrong.

FR. BEN: And you want the loving relationships that make something like that possible. Despite how you’ve shaped your life til now, I think what you’re really looking for is a community.

ISABEL: Father, you haven’t been listening. I don’t belong in a community.

FR. BEN: Sure you do. While the kind of community a person wants differs according to their own personal preferences, it's universal that all of us seek out relationships and people to care about us. Denying that doesn’t make that desire go away. It only prevents you from seeking out what could bring you the true experience of joy you’ve been avoiding all these years.

ISABEL: I guess…I could see that. I’m not saying I agree with what you said. But I can see it. (Pause) So that’s it? You’re not going to absolve me?

FR. BEN: Of course I will, Isabel. But your penance? It’s going to be giving Mariah Rosales a call.

ISABEL: Figures. (Sighs) Alright. I guess she and Jorge deserve it.

FR. BEN: One more thing. I want you to know no matter what, there’s a place for you in the community of St. Pat’s.

ISABEL: You sure about that?

FR BEN: Of course I am. The Church is for everyone. You’re welcome to attend our Masses  - or brunches and barbecues - anytime. Trust me, there’s always something going on around here. You’d be surprised at how many other people in this town are in your exact same situation.

ISABEL: Heh, is that really penance, Father? Talking to the Rosaleses and eating brisket with your parishioners? I’m a tough porkchop. I can take something worse.

FR. BEN: From my experience, addressing long-held habits and beliefs is plenty challenging. And in any case? Burritos with gummy bears is penance enough.