Sleepers

---

This is a true story about friendship that runs deeper than blood.

This is my story & that of the only 3 friends in my life who truly mattered.

Two of them were killers who never made it past the age of thirty.

The other is a non-practicing attorney living with the pain of his past...

...too afraid to let it go, never confronting its horror.

I'm the only one who could speak for them...and the children we were.

My three friends and I were inseparable...

...happy and content to live in the closed world of Hell's Kitchen.

The West Side streets of Manhattan were our private playground...

...a cement kingdom where we felt we were nothing less than absolute rulers.

Hell's Kitchen was populated by an uneasy blend of...

Irish, Italian, Puerto Rican,

and Eastern European laborers. Hard men living hard lives.

We lived in railroad apartments inside red brick tenements.

Few mothers worked and all had trouble with the men they married.

I buried one f***ing wife, I could bury another one!

Domestic violence was a cottage industry in Hell's Kitchen.

Yet, there was no divorce and few separations.

The will of the Church was forceful.

For a marriage to end, someone usually had to die.

Yet, despite the harshness of life...

...Hell's Kitchen offered the kids on its streets a safety net...

...enjoyed by few other neighborhoods.

Crimes against people of the neighborhood were not permitted.

When they did occur, the punishment doled out was severe...

...and, in some cases, final.

A drug dealer from uptown moved heroin into Hell's Kitchen.

A packet killed the twelve-year old son of a Puerto Rican numbers runner.

It was the last packet the dealer ever sold.

Hell's Kitchen was a place of innocence...ruled by corruption.

My friends and I spent lots of time inside Holy Angels.

We each served as altar boys.

Everyone wanted to work funeral masses,

since the funeral included a $ fee...

...and more if you looked sufficiently somber.

There was an active competition between the four of us...

...to come up with the best and boldest prank.

Two weeks into the new school year,

I found the nun's clacker in the school hallway...

...and I was ready for the big leagues.

In church, it was used to alert the girls as to when...

...they should stand, sit, kneel and genuflect...

...all based on the number of times the clacker was pressed.

In my pocket, it was cause for havoc.

You will be defenders of the faith. You will be soldiers of Christ.

And you will receive the gifts...

...of the Holy Spirit.

It's gonna be a great day and your...

...parents will be proud of you. When you were baptized...

...godparents made promises for you. And now...

-You're gonna confirm those promises. -Let me have the clacker.

What clacker?

Now!

Let everyone rise.

Let us pray.

Nuns are such easy targets.

John and I spent more time in church than the others.

We were the only two in the group to give any thought of entering the priesthood.

And John and I were intrigued by the powers the priest was given.

A secret world of betrayal and deceit, where people...

...openly admitted dark misdeeds and vile indiscretions.

Confession was better than any book we could get our hands on,

or any movie we could see, because the sins were real...

...committed by people we knew.

The temptation to be part of that was far too great to resist.

If we get caught, they'll burn us.

What if our mothers are out there?

What if we end up hearing their confessions?

What if we hear something worse?

Like what?

Like a murder. What if somebody cops to a murder?

Relax. All we've got to do is sit back, listen and remember not to laugh.

Seconds later, our booth comes to life.

I...sleep with married men.

Men with families.

In the morning, I tell myself it's the last time, but it never is.

Yes?

You see, I'm...I'm pregnant.

The father?

Take a number.

What are you going to do?

I know what you want me to do.

And I know what I should do.

I just don't know what I'm gonna do.

Look, I gotta go.

Thanks for listening, fellas. I really appreciate it.

I know you'll keep it to yourselves.

She knew.

Yeah, she knew.

Why do you think she told us all that?

I don't know. I guess she had to tell somebody.

Father Robert Carrillo was a longshoreman's son...

...who was as comfortable sitting on a bar stool in a back alley saloon...

...as he was standing at the altar during High Mass.

He had toyed with a life of petty crime before finding his calling.

He was a friend...a friend who just happened to be a priest.

You know what crap like that does to your body?

Come on, Father, it beats smoking. And it's cheaper, too.

Maybe. So, what do you hear, anything?

No, nothing.

I hear you're interested in becoming a priest.

Who says?

Word is you want to get the feel of a confessional booth.

I don't know what you're talking about, Father.

You don't?

Maybe I got the wrong information.

I guess you did.

I'll see you later tonight.

What's tonight?

I gotta drop some books and magazines off...

...for the elderly and disabled around the neighborhood.

Your mother said you'd love to help.

I bet she did.

Shakes...l don't want you getting into any trouble.

Come on, Father, you know I never do.

That's all I wish for you and your friends.

That's it?

That's it. Nothing else, I swear, that's it.

You know, a priest shouldn't swear.

And kids shouldn't be listening to other people's confessions.

I'll see you tonight.

Rate this script:2.0 / 1 vote